


The Right Half

by Aicosu



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Blood, Broken Bones, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-08 21:03:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3223355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aicosu/pseuds/Aicosu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An injury brings Lavellan and Solas closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trapped

"Across and then over."

"But I’m holding two already.”  
  
“You have it, there, see? Just take it with your finger…There…”

“When I let go, won’t it all fall apart?”

A laugh. “Yes! So don’t let go.”

Solas couldn’t help his smile. The small anxiety that emerged in the spirit’s face could not eclipse the ardor already in its expression. Cole regarded the Inquisitor with such rapt attention as he attempted to braid the short length of hair in his hands that a bit of warmth spread through this own chest. A quiet moment here in reality between one of the people and a spirit.

Such a rare and exquisite sight.

Inquisitor Lavellan held a matching braid in her fingers, the little weave neat and tidy, while Cole’s had hair sticking out and knots bulging. Both lengths matched the lopsided cut locks on the back of their heads.

A Lover’s Knot.

They had found one in the rubble of a small and abounded temple, in the forgotten and uninhabited areas of the Exalted Plains. It was a small Dalish treasure that had immediately set the boy off on a tangent of outspoken emotions of homesickness and nostalgia. Ellana had seemed embarrassed, but willing to explain the trinket, already ousted by Cole.

“It’s a Lover’s Knot. Or half of one.” A singed braided length of hair, coiled into a Knot and ended in a small charm. “A keepsake for Lovers—you’re supposed to make it with your own hair and theirs, and keep a bit of them with you.”

“Your own hair?” Cassandra had asked a bit dubiously.

“Or plant roots, Hart or Halla hair... And it’s not just for lovers, but friends and family too.”

Cole was immediately curious. And Solas suspected his excitement was a mere reflection of the Inquisitor’s. Her fondness for the object must have spurred the boy into his desire to make one.

So they sat, on the bank of the river leading to a small waterfall, Lavellan quietly teaching Cole to braid with bits of both of their hair cut straight off with his dagger.

Solas watched them from a short distance as he slowly re-wrapped his staff with leathers, inspecting it and his hand for the source of irritated calluses.

They seemed to have been fighting all day. The Plains were dire and dead. Burned and tainted with old battles and new ones. Demons and soldiers had been their ambient noise for hours. They were all tired, so the short and calming stop was not unexpected or opposed.

“Can I keep yours?” Cole asked quietly, as he struggled to finish his own. “Like you said? Like we are supposed to?”

“Of course, but only if I can have yours too.”

Cole hesitated, “I’m sorry… mine is not… pretty like the ones you remember.”  
  
Ellana laughed, leaning forward to help his fingers finish the end of the hairs. “It’s perfect.” She twisted the hair on itself, expertly knotting the ends before pushing the messy braided circle over her thin fingers, wriggling her palm and knuckles until the braid slipped past to rest on her wrist.

“Here.” She took Cole’s hand gently, and her own neat braid, wrapping it about his wrist and tying it off.

“Thank you.” Cole spoke at the hair-made bracelet, patting it quietly.

“Now we have something to remember each other by.”

The boy’s head snapped up at that, but Ellana had already stood from the bank. Her hands raised above her head, the length of her small frame stretching toward the sky to awaken her muscles.

Solas let his eyes trace down the hidden lines of her arms, sides, and down her legs. His hand kept the steady and swift motion of wrapping his staff even as his eyes bored into the Inquisitor’s frame, memorizing the movement of her. Small and lithe, wily and limber, she moved too much for a mage, always too close to the combat. He had watched her use the fade to whisk her across the battlefield to use the end of her staff to slice into an enemy only to whisk back out again.

More than once she had fade stepped to the safety of his side where he could raise barriers to protect after angering a red Templar or mercenary bandit. He had chided her for it more than once, receiving guilty wide eye looks and embarrassed smiles each time.

He wouldn’t admit that watching her move was a pleasure. That following the curve of her neck and graceful spine as she twisted into dodges or thrust spells was an absolutely gratifying experience.

He admired her; admired the suddenness of her, the curiosity in her questions and the impulsive instincts that drove her decisions.

He also admired the hesitation of her parting lips when she came to him for advice. Or the crease of her eyes when she looked up at him to share a secret smile over some of his wit. He admired the curve of her cheek and the soft look her hair. Ah, her hair. He would not mind discovering the texture and feel of it in between his fingers, or twisted about his knuckles--

“Solas would like a Lover’s Knot too.” Cole’s voice broke the air, snapping his mind to the present.

Ellana twisted to consider him and suddenly he was caught staring, their eyes meeting both with surprise. She glanced at Cole, the boy’s face passive and watching as if he had not said a word.  Solas tried to suppress the heat that threatened to burn his neck and ears.

“Oh? Is that true hahren?”

Hahren.

 It wasn’t the first time she had called him that. And just like each time before, heat slithered in his stomach at the sound of it from her lips. He looked down at his staff and forced a chuckle from himself. 

“No da’len, I am fine.” He secretly glanced at Cole, willing the spirit to be satisfied with his forced content, before looking up at her teasingly. “Besides, what hair would I have to give?”

She smiled softly at him, though her expression was still questioning and he turned back to his staff.

“I’m sure I have enough for both of us, or we could use some twine.”

The lilt and inflection of her voice soothed his soul, but he still shook his head. “It isn’t necessary. Thank you.”

She made a humming noise of wonder, before seemingly dropping the issue, her gentle form passing him from where he sat to approach Cassandra. She and the Seeker dropped into conversation about their ever increasing annoyance with the Freemen of the Dales, their talk more serious than discussing technique for braiding.

Cole sought him out at Lavellan’s absence, crossing the dirt to come to a kneel before him. His eyes looked nervously up at him through his hair and hat before flickering to the Inquisitor.

Solas raised his brows at him, already knowing what was to come. “Well go on then.” He encouraged, before adding,”Quietly.”

“Temptation to touch is telling me to be tame yet—silken, soft… such sweet surrender too only see and not have isn’t…satisfying.” Cole rushed out beneath his breath almost as fast as he was able. His hands rose, fingers twisting and caressing the braid of hair there. “But, you do want to hold her hair in your hands. You could if she makes you one.”

“Asking for something is not the same as being given it freely.” He hushed back. “And if you are trying to understand human emotions you will need to dig deeper than the surface. The why and why not’s are as important as the wants.”

The boy’s face turned downward, wriggling his finger into the knots of the braid on his wrist. “I’m sorry, Solas.” His tentative voice came muffled from beneath his hat as he hid his face. “You… didn’t want anyone to know, did you?”

The old elf sighed, hands abandoning his staff to tilt the large brim backward and force the boy to look up at him. “No, I did not. But it is alright so long as you are learning.” He gave the spirit a smile, one that was mirrored, if a bit shyly.

“I think I am. But… it’s confusing at times. When to speak and when not too.” Cole’s brows furrowed. “Sometimes it seems I can help if I speak and they do not, because they are scared. Afraid of how others might think of them.”

Solas gave a subtle nod before looking over at the Inquisitor. He watched her delicate hands twist with emphasize in her conversation. “Do I seem scared Cole?”

The boy went silent and Solas let the spirit indulge in his mind.

“N…No. You aren’t. You are… disappointed.”

“In what?”

Cole’s face cringed at the complicated question and a large awkward hand coming up to rub at his face. “I… don’t know—yourself?” When Solas only hummed deeply Cole shifted on his knees.  Expression turning imploring, he said, “But—you don’t have to be.”

He laughed at that, a low, short and sad laugh. “Oh what a good and persistent spirit you are Cole. I would hope you never stop being so determined in your empathy to help those around you.”

Solas stood then, righting his staff and looking down at him. “But for now, there are many other matters much greater than you or I. Now come along.”

Cole looked at the ground one last time before looking up blankly and nodding, standing from the dusty ground. His large boyish hands pat gently at his legs and Solas gave a fond smile before turning back towards the others.  
  
“Inquisitor.” He called, and for a moment he allowed himself the pleasure at seeing her turn towards him, her eyes seeking him out with that wide and deep curiosity. She smiled at him again, as if the simple act of seeing to his attention was a pleasure.

“Solas?”

“We should press on if you wish to reach Fort Revasan by nightfall.”

She left Cassandra’s side to come closer to him, and he had to lower his neck to look down at her when she stopped just before him.

“Would it be alright if we headed towards the Dalish camp instead?”

“West?” He questioned.

She nodded and a hand rose to grasp her own neck, pressing the skin there insistently. A nervous habit of hers he had learned quickly to adore.

“I think – and Cassandra does as well, that they might be helpful…” She trailed, eyes flickering to the side almost nervously and Solas had to wonder where this sudden anxiousness was spilling from. He frowned at her avoidance of his gaze. Why ask him such a thing? What permission would she need from him, of all people, to change course? If she wished to see the Dalish—ah.

The Dalish.

He couldn’t help the tug at the corners of his lips. But he made sure to school his features into neutrality. Was her consideration unlimited?  She thought of his own reservations before his needs. Kind but also excessive, while he did not favor the Dalish, he did not think them a waste of time.

“Well then lethallan, lead the way.”

She turned her gaze back on him, this time with a wider and genuine smile. He nodded lightly, his eyes drinking the sight of her approval and gratification.

He would agree to see hundreds of Dalish camps should she always react so strikingly.   


\---  


The outskirts of The Dirth were perhaps once beautiful and lush lands of forest with tall growths of green and brambles full of fauna and life. They would have been bursting with bird song and the smell of earth. The smell of soil thick with minerals and sunlight.

But all that must have been burned.

The Exalted Plains, now, was nothing but scorched remnants of what once might have been. The terrain was leveled with the wear of being walked on, being used and worn. The trees were naked and alone, the number of them not enough to call a forest. The air was quiet and the smell was of dry wood and baked dead grass.

The four of them took their pace a little more leisurely than before. The sparse forest was quiet. The demons and bandits behind them nothing but a trail of silent bodies now. And the Inquisitor insisted on taking the path less taken, climbing down the waterfall to travel through the narrow valleys closer to the Path of Fire. This way, they could avoid any more Freemen or demons.   

Cassandra fell in step with him.

They were a bit of way from where Cole and Lavellan walked ahead, the boy eager to listen to Dalish tall tales. She was one of the few who would indulge the spirit on his more… whimsical and trivial questions; she having many of her own.

“Do you worry about it Solas?”

The thick Nevarran accent was hard to ignore and he turned to look at the Seeker as she watched the two before them. “The spirit I mean.” She clarified.

“Cole?”  He confirmed lightly, turning with her to watch them both. Cole’s hat obscured his face just as Lavellan’s hair obscured hers, but their frames told emotions of lazy content. “No. He has given me no reason to worry.”

He tried to seriously consider the question as she asked it, but could already feel a bit of disappointment bubble up at the Seeker for being so wary.

“He is not a spirit of malcontent.”

A hefty sigh. “That is not what I meant.” She defended and he waited for her to continue. “He seems… very young.”

At this he smiled. What a surprising thing for her to say. And almost… endearing.

“Our Inquisitor insists on his accompaniment despite his age. It seems…reckless.”

“Are you worried about his raising, Seeker?” He very nearly accused, failing to keep the utter amusement at the idea out of his voice.

“Of course not—I only mean to say—“ She tried, her expression scrunching up in an offended (and embarrassed) manner. But despite her protest, her words sounded an awful lot like concern. “He seems impressionable. And someone at his age could be hurt in battle—“

“He is not like you or I Seeker. And while he appears to us as a young boy might—“

“I know it’s different.” She cut off, turning to glance at him this time. “Perhaps I have over thought this—please dismiss the matter.”

Solas gave her flustered face a knowing smile, but said nothing.

They walked for a length in silence with nothing of note happening besides some of Ellana’s light laughter ahead of them and a soft exclamation from Cole. The two bumped shoulders and Ellana pointed somewhere in rocks above them at some birds.

The valley grew narrower and Cassandra began speaking to him again.

“He makes wonder… I have fought many demons in my life without thought.”

Solas turned to look over at her. Cassandra’s expression one of confusion and… pain.

“I admit, I have never thought of their circumstances as I have, well, humans I have struck down. Often times I wonder at the lives of my enemies. Even these… Freemen of the Dales. But demons?”

“I’m surprised at you Cassandra.” He spoke, and smiled at her when she looked over at him questioning. “To even reach that consideration of spirits… it is true, yes, many of them are demons because it is against their will and it is kind of you to acknowledge that now.”

Cassandra’s expression turned a bit somber so Solas continued. “However, demons are often beyond anyone’s saving. Even the best spirits are lost to our sympathy when they reach that terrible nature.”

They were quiet once more and after some time Cassandra spoke.

“Thank you, Solas.”

“No—thank you, Cassandra.” He corrected with a smile. “It is you who were so open minded in—“

“Stop! Cole!!”

Solas and the Seeker’s gazes shot forward to the shout ahead of them, Lavellan rushing at the boy and shoving him backward from the path. Cole fell to the ground and Lavellan stumbled. “Careful it’s a—!!“  
  
A loud metallic clang snapped through the rocky walls of the valley and the Inquisitor went shock still, standing like a stone over Cole.

And then the deafening silence was broken by screaming.

Cole was wailing loudly, his face scrunched up as he screamed his face red. “AHHH!!!! IT HURTS! IT HURTS!”

The crying shot through their bodies and they lunged for the two. Cassandra went for Cole first, grasping at the boy with her face a mess of confusion and horror. “Cole! What is wrong!? What happened!?”

But Solas caught the look on the Inquisitor’s face as he neared—her eyes unseeing, glassy and the blood draining from her face. He looked her over instantly and his eyes caught it, the metal snare hidden in the grass clamping onto her right leg.  

Blood dotted her boots and the blades of grass

“SOLAS!! HELP PLEASE IT HURTS!” Cole screamed.  
  
“Cassandra!” He called, falling to his knees, his hands instantly acting as adrenaline shot through his body. A hunting trap—her leg, her skin, her bones, he needed to act fast. “Ellana!”

The metal bands had collapsed on her delicate leg, ripped straight through the leather of her boot to pierce the tender flesh and break the bone it had desperately sought.  He knew it to be broken; he could feel it once his magic dashed through the air to invade her body.

He could feel the blood in her begging to pour out and he trapped it there. Her mana rushed around his, almost like panicked hands darting around his own to try and heal the wound. Her magic was pouring out of her and he looked up to see her breathing had turned ragged where she stood, seeing nothing and panting harshly.

“Ellana, stop—stop your magic. You need to focus and stop trying to heal yourself or you will expend your energy and fall unconscious--” he tried.

“IT HURTS! I CAN’T—“ Cole responded.

And then someone was pushing past him, strong hands batting his away to grasp the metal. “Move, Solas.” Cassandra commanded coolly.

He did so, stepping away for the Seeker to kneel before the trap. He immediately rose to grasp Ellana, pulling at her shoulders to get her to lie down. She went slowly, body not reacting and eyes unseeing. He situated her small frame into his lap, hands keeping her shoulders steady. “S-Solas.”

“Shhh, it’s alright, we will get you out of it.” He reassured, watching as Cassandra tilted the snare as they laid her down in the grass. “Just stay with us. Do not shut your eyes da’len.”

Cole’s screaming had quieted down to whimpers, his form still shivering in fear on the ground behind them.

“The damn thing is rusted—old.” Cassandra called, her brow furrowed in frustration as her strong arms struggled with the release triggers on the sides of the snare. “It will not move.”

“Can you break it?”

Cassandra yanked the metal and a rip tore across Ellana’s leather boots, exposing the holes in her leg. “If I hit it hard enough it may just spring open—but getting it open will also widen the wound. She will bleed fast.”

“No. I will make sure she doesn’t.”

Cassandra looked up at him and gave a trusted nod. Her hands grasped the large broadsword on her back, unsheathing it deftly and bringing it forward. She looked up at him again. “Ready?”

He nodded, and the Seeker raised the heavy sword’s hilt upward, aiming for the rusted release latch. It was brought down with a loud clang on the trap and this time the yell of wretched pain came from Ellana’s lips as the metal vibrated through her leg.

Solas held her fast, and narrowed his eyes, ignoring her pain to watch Cassandra beat the metal with the hilt of her blade. Once, twice--

A loud final crack and the metal sprang open. The rusted iron jaws relinquished their prey and Cassandra sent the vile thing clattering against the rocks.  

Solas thrust a hand out, tendrils of warm magic and light wrapping themselves around her leg. True to his word, she didn’t bleed. But the wound was deep. “It’s broken – and the muscle is torn. We need it wrapped immediately.”

Cassandra grabbed the Inquisitor’s leg, quickly yanking off a leather boot. She seemed to search the grass around them before turning to the quiet whimpering spirit behind them. “Cole, give me your—“

His hand ripped one of his daggers from his back, pulling it out and thrusting its long scabbard out to the Seeker.

“Thank you.” She grasped the thick sheath and pressed it against Ellana’s leg. A pause to rip some fabric, and Cassandra was quickly wrapping her leg against the makeshift splint.

“I-I’m alright. Please I can—“

“No.” Solas quieted immediately, looking down to see her wide glassy eyes blinking up at him. “Hush and be still.”

“We must head back to the Inquisition forces immediately.” Cassandra spoke, voice steady as she worked. “We have no poultice, no supplies for this sort of injury.”

“I can heal it for as long as I am able – but I will not be able to stop it from bleeding for that long. Fort Revesan is too far.”

Cassandra grunted, both of them quiet for ideas.

“Really—I’m... I’m alright. I’m sorry I was just... shocked—the pain—“ Ellana tried, her pale face stuck with stray hairs from the sweat on her brow. “But give me a moment. I-I will walk—or heal!”  
  
“Absolutely not.” Cassandra admonished. “You will not be able to walk on this even if we had all the poultice and magic in the world. Not for days.”

“The Dalish camp.” Solas suddenly chimed. “They are much closer than our forces and will surely have something to help.”

“Perhaps they will let us use one of their aravels as well.”

The two of them seemed to agree silently and nodded at each other at the plan.

“Good, we need to hurry there now.” Cassandra stated, tying off the tight bindings on the leg. She stood and unbuckled the shield and sheath from her back. “Cole, take these, I will need to carry the Inquisitor.”

“I c-can stand—“

“No.” Cassandra snapped as Cole took the gear tentatively. The Seeker returned to kneel before Ellana, presenting her back to her. “No arguments.”

Ellana seemed too tired and too much in pain to argue past that, though her expression still cringed with the idea. “Alright…I’m sorry.”

Solas helped hoist her on the Seeker’s back, her thin legs slid between Cassandra’s arms, and her arms perched themselves on her shoulders.

Solas put his efforts and his magic. He couldn’t stitch the flesh together without first fixing the bone, and he didn’t dare try that without poultice to slow the blood as he worked.

So as the Seeker stood tall, hoisting the petite woman on her back, he kept close behind, magic flowing to keep her blood inside her.

“Come on Cole, we will need to go quickly.” Cassandra called. She turned, and frowned.

Cole had pulled the Seeker’s shield and sword onto his own back, but had gone and retrieved the corroded trap, holding its menacing jaws delicately in his hands. Its rust was red with blood.

“I didn’t want it to hurt anyone else!”

Cassandra sighed and Ellana smiled weakly from her shoulder.

“Come on.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played with the origin of Lover's Knots. Please forgive me. Not the end! I meant to progress this further but got distracted adoring Cole and Cass. The next couple chapter are Solas and Lavellan alone.


	2. Stilted

 

“Are you ready?”

Ellana’s eyes flickered upward, catching the pale ice of his gaze.

His face was utterly calm as his fingers teased and tickled her skin. The digits were confident as they roamed her flesh, the pressure enough to feel but not enough to be satisfying.

One of his hands cupped the bareness of her calf, thumb rolling across her muscle while the other hand leaned forward and grasped her hip. He loomed over her from where she lay in the shade. Her fingers clenched the fabric of the blanket at her sides, listening to the rustle of grass.

Ellana swallowed, heat flushing in her face as Solas leaned further over her, his thighs brushing hers. He looked concerned, expression tentative but determined.  
  
“It will hurt a great deal.”

This… was not at all how this situation was supposed to go.

“Make sure it’s fast.” Cassandra’s voice called from somewhere above her head. Most likely staring at them with a perturbed expression and crossed arms. It was a nice reminder that Cassandra, Cole and most of the Dirth Dalish clan was watching them.

It would almost be nice except for that.

And, well, the utter excruciating pain in her leg, and the sticky blood that had most likely coated Solas’ beautiful long fingers.

She flushed, chiding herself. It wasn’t really the time.

This day had been embarrassing enough and it seemed to get worse every notch the sun rose in the sky.

First she had stepped in a hunting trap (for Halla, they had learned). An amateur’s mistake. Then shad to ride on Cassandra’s back all the way to the Dalish camp, where she was introduced as the famed Herald (who had a broken leg from a stupid mistake.) And now everyone was watching intently as Solas crowded above her, weaving his magic and threatening to make her scream.

And not in a good way.

“I’m afraid of being too loud.” Cole spoke her thoughts ominously, suddenly at her side on the grass, startling her and making Solas pull backward.

“Cole!” She exclaimed, touching his shoulder and her heart.  “Don’t---“ she sighed, trying not to admonish his very nature. “It’s alright—you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to help.” He spoke dearly, eyes and brows worrying into a frown.

He thought it was his fault, she knew he did. With how many times he asked to help on the way over to the camp, that much was obvious. But she had only been trying to make sure it wasn’t his leg in the damned thing.

“Hold my hand then.”

He grasped her fingers fast, eager, and she turned her eyes back on Solas who was regarding her with a small warm smile.

She bit her lip.

“Not to worry da’len, I will make it quick.” He promised and oh Creators—what a promise to be told in such an unexpected and unsatisfying way.

But there wasn’t really time to regret the thought when suddenly his hands were on her broken shin. The magic that held her blood at bay began to recede, the trickling feeling a startling one.

“Solas—“

“Shh.” He hushed, and she tried to match his calmness.

He needed to put the bone back together—or mostly back together. It was nearly a clean break and the injury was serious enough that in order to fix it properly he needed all his magic. But she could bleed out, he had explained. So they had to do it with poultice and elf root, which the Dalish were kind enough to provide.

So upon reaching the camp they had laid her out, unwrapped the wound and prepared for setting the broken bone. She could feel the thick patch of herbs and poultice coating the large teeth shaped holes in her legs and hoped it would be enough to stop her blood from draining.

Already she was woozy. She had been since the metal jaw had collapsed upon her and the pain had ripped her mind out of her head. And now it had been nothing but constant stabbing pains soothed only by the wisps of Solas’ aura.

With that gone it felt like someone had ripped her leg out of a warm bath into cold, harsh biting wind.

She watched the top of Solas’ head to stay focused, to try and ignore the sensation of her leg getting increasingly more painful. She traced the tips of his ears and the straightness of his brow even as it furrowed in concentration. So precise, so diligent…

And then—

“AAYH—“The scream was loud and cut off as her teeth snapped shut, jaw creaking as she turned and buried her face into Cole’s hand.

Her eyes closed tightly.

Thought escaped her. She could only imagine words as textures and bright colors; images of fire or scorched lighting on the ground. Pain, pain, pain! The pain of the bone snapping back together was almost as bad as it breaking in the first place. It was sharp, and pressing, pushing from her leg into her back and arching her upward.

She thought she heard everyone talking, crowded and murmuring like the halls of Skyhold, but it all sounded far away. She felt a hand in her hair and the almost metallic ringing in her mind from the snapped bone began to gradually dim as did her mind.

“Ellana, no, do not close your eyes.” She heard Solas speak, the roll of his voice so soft and soothing.

She could sleep to that.  
  
“Get more wrappings!” someone called.

“Solas, the bleeding—you need to stop—“

“I’m trying.”

Oh… gods she was exhausted. She felt the pain lesson to a pulsating throb. Each beat harsh and prominent, as if her heart were in her leg.

It was lethargic, listening to it. And her body felt heavy, weighted. Almost as if she was sinking.

“Ellana—da’len please—“ He sounded more insistent this time. But he was distant… far.

“Cole. Wake her up.” Cassandra again.

And suddenly her body jerked upward, hands grasping her head and yanking her into a lap.  “Wake up!” The voice called above her. “You will miss sunrise!”

Memories rushed to her mind. Sunrise—the camp from clan Lavellan. The smell of burning embers from the fire the night before… If she missed sunrise the hunting party would leave without her—as First she had to go with them, she had too! Or she would never prove to Keeper Deshanna—

Her eyes snapped open and an inhale filled her lungs.

Vibrant blue eyes looked down at her, framed by a large hat. “They don’t want you to fall asleep.” Cole told her.

She nodded dumbly, the memory escaping her as fast as it had come. She could hear now, hear Cassandra rushing words at Solas as his magic raced along her skin with his fingers. A Dalish woman was insisting on helping wrap her calf while someone else was calling for a proper splint.

“Will you tell me about the Knots again?” Cole asked.

Hazily, Ellana tried to explain, staring into the void of the boy’s eyes. “Something… to remember them by…”

“Did you make many at home?”

“Only… two…”

Her whole body was practically numb now, the air thick with the smell of rust and elfroot.

“Do you still remember them? Even though you don’t have those knots anymore?”

“Yes…of course...”

Cole continued to ask questions she blindly answered, and it wasn’t until he sat her upright to keep her awake that she saw how much blood she lost.

Solas had red on his hands like gloves. His fingerprints were dotted along her ankle, foot and knee like drips of paint. There were probably more around her actual shin, but she could not see it around the mess of blood that lingered there. The blanket beneath her was stained so much she had no doubt the grass beneath was soaked as well.

However, as Solas pressed a new wooden splint to her leg and a Dalish woman began to wrap, she noticed that the holes looked smaller. The poultice had done little – but enough.

“Hold it steady and wrap tightly please.” He informed the woman, her thin face nodding up and down as she began.

Solas glanced up at her incredulous face. The pent up concern between his brows did not leave, but he gave a halfhearted smile.

It looked absurd in the middle of the battle-like gore scene.

She tried to smile back and the act at even trying made her laugh.

And then she was laughing hysterically.

“Inquisitor, please.” Cassandra said; with such disgruntled disapproval that Ellana could only laugh more. The woman’s face was so pricelessly exhausted and the situation so ridiculous—

“What is… so funny?” Cole asked loudly and that did not help to quell her mirth.

“Our fearless leader seems to have finally… snapped?” Solas suggested with a glint in his eye.

She didn’t miss the ironic wording of his joke, and soon found tears in her eyes for laughing harder. It was good, distracting, the clenching and cramping of her stomach and heaving of her lungs. She couldn’t feel the pain anymore, but her head was light and full of air.

Perhaps it was the flood of relief that she was alright, or the climax of so much adrenaline. “I’m so-so-so so! Sorry! HA!”

“Honestly.” Cassandra grumbled harshly, standing abruptly and walking away, leaving them and the little crowd of elves.

Ellana watched her leave with a joyful ache in her cheeks, Cole still asking what the joke was from above her.

Solas caught her gaze and held it. Blood up to his wrists and a smudge of it on his cheek, he looked at her with an tired and splendid grin, chuckling so deeply it rolled through his shoulders as he shook his head.  


\--  


“Those bastards have been trying to take down the southern herds for weeks now. I’m not surprised that someone got hurt—especially with bad shemlen iron work like this. The poor Halla are probably dying ways most gruesome.”

Ellana smiled sadly at the young Dalish, his brows furrowed in disgust. The expression curled his vallaslin of June into the swallows of his cheeks. She watched silently as he dismantled the metal jaws.

Cole was sitting quietly on her other side, rocking back and forth on his heels and carving pictures in the dirt. He hadn’t left her side since the setting of her leg, which she was grateful for. He would speak up each time she got too tired, Solas having given him the task of keeping her awake and alert.

“You best be careful lethallan, the rust is most likely in your blood – you can get mad sick with rotten metal in your veins.”

“That’s what Solas has been saying…” She trailed, turning from her resting spot with the man to look over at the mentioned elf, he and Cassandra discussing something with Keeper Howen some distance away.

“Your hahren is right to be cautious. You will need to cleanse your blood when you get somewhere with more herbs.” He was looking at her with warning, his eyes wide with insistence. “I know someone from the clan near the Emerald Dales who had to cut his arm off before the metal spread to his heart.”

Ellana cringed, not liking the image of herself with no right leg. Cole on the other hand leaned forward to stare at the Elf in wonder.  
  
“They cut it off?” The boy asked.

“The skin gets black and grey like the undead. It was nasty—they had to tie the arm down with a rope, and cut off the blood before taking one of them skinning knives—“

“Solas, Cassandra!” Ellana called, eager to see them approaching. She gave an awkward smile to her Dalish companion. “Sorry, we should speak about where we are headed next.”

“No worries lethallan, I wish you safe travels.”

He left, taking the wretched Halla trap with him and Ellana hoped she would not see another for some time.

Cassandra’s booted feet stopped before her eyes, the woman standing with a harsh and uneasy look on her face. Solas’ expression didn’t look much better. She parted her lips to ask, but he knelt before her instead.  
  
“How are you feeling?” He asked, brows drawing forth and staring at her face rather than the red spotted bandages on her shin.

She smiled at him, silently wondering when her last offering to the Creators had been. Surely another was due, if only to thank them for sending her Solas. He was a light in the dark as Inquisitor— a warm, heady, knowing veilfire.

“I’m alright.” She assured. It had been some time since fixing her leg and they insisted she take it easy. No sleeping though. Solas was still afraid she might fall to the Fade with the loss of blood and the pain. She could come out with a fever from the rust – or worse. There was always worse when it came to ill mages crossing into the Fade. She tried to shrug. “I can’t feel it. My leg.”

He frowned a bit at that but said nothing.

Looking over him she glanced back up to Cassandra curiously. “So what’s happening? Is there a plan brewing I don’t know about?”

“No.” The Seeker answered immediately. Solas made a sound, something between a huff and a grunt that made Ellana raise her brows. “Well… yes. I suppose there is.”

When neither said anything she tried on her best Inquisitor voice. “And you’re going to explain to me…”

 “We both agree that you need to go back to Skyhold.”

“What?” Ellana sat straighter, eyes flickering from both of them in confusion. “I thought—Fort Revas—“

“Even if they have the supplies we need to help you recuperate, you will need to be off your feet for a week or more.” Solas interrupted and for the first time Ellana found she hated his knowledgeable tone.

“A week? N-No. That’s ridiculous.”

“Inquisitor, be reasonable.” Cassandra admonished.

“I am! We are needed here to help the forces push back the demons. And with less rifts—“

“It’s not as important as—“

“This will not take a week—“

“It could be less, yes.” Solas suddenly agreed. “With ample supplies and steady care, you could heal in days.” The submission silenced her and she caught him looking at her with a trailing expression, pale eyes glinting. “…if you head back to Skyhold.”

“Hahre—“

“Da’len.” The voice was brisk and she found her lips clamping shut at the sight of his strong downward brows. He leaned forward on his knees, his head tilting.  “Please.”

Well that wasn’t fair.

Ellana tore her eyes away from him, trying to hold up her argument. But Solas most likely knew how much stock she held in his advice. And judging from Cassandra’s somehow indifferently pleased look – she did too.

“Why not just stay here though? Why not head to the forces at Fort Revasan and then chain me to a bed? Would not take at least a week to head back?”

It was Cassandra’s turn to raise her brows. “You want to be away from Skyhold that long? With the Winter Palace ball so soon?”

She cursed quietly. She had not even thought of that. And with a broken leg… Damn her companions for being so… efficient.

 “Besides, we know a way to get you back in five days.”

“Oh?”

“Keeper Howen is willing to lend you the clan’s Hart.”

She regarded Cassandra with surprise. “That’s… very kind of them.” This was… upsetting. Leaving the Exalted Plains and not helping their forces secure the area was disheartening. But at least they could make it back to Skyhold with time to spare. And perhaps the quicker she got back the quicker she could be healed.

“So—should we all leave now and be across the Plains by nightfall? Or would that—“

Cassandra cleared her throat loudly, shifting on her feet.

“…What is it?”

In front of her, Solas sighed, “This is where some complication arises. The Dalish only have one Hart, lethallan.”

“Then Fort Revasan must have horses to spare…”

“Revasan is still at least a day’s away. And I cannot carry you that far, nor can you walk on that leg.”

She was frowning deeply now, brows drawn as she tried to organize her thoughts with all the problems they had presented her. Can’t stay here, can’t stay there. They had to head back but did not have enough to head back on. After a few moments of silence, she realized her companions were all looking at her patiently, as if they had already come to a conclusion, because of course they had.

“So what then?“

“So you and Solas will head back to Skyhold while Cole and I head to Revasan and do what we can to fight of the demons and help the soldiers retreat. We will head back with the Inquisition forces eventually.”

She was already shaking her head. “No—I don’t want to leave you here—“

“Inquisitor, it’s our best option at the moment. We can’t have you out here like this. Not with so many rifts still open.”  
  
“Which is exactly why—“

“Absolutely not.”

“We should head—“

“Ellana—“

“To Val Royeaux!”

That got them all quiet. She smiled a bit, the grand idea already forming in her head. “The capitol is much closer. Solas and I can head there and rest. I’ll heal up and then we’ll head back.”

Solas was shaking his head. “We need—“

“You already said my recovery could be less than a week if I had a decent and well stocked place to rest and you to help mend the injury.” She bit out quickly, stopping his words instantly.

He narrowed his eyes at her even as his mouth twitched with a smile at hearing his words used against him.

 Cassandra was frowning, but the stubborn look in her eyes was gone. “Come on, that is a better plan, no?” She urged. “We have connections in the capitol, and they will have endless supplies there. It will only be a day or two ride by Hart.”

“She… makes a good point…” Cassandra trailed.

Solas didn’t look too pleased, but he stood, hands clasping behind his back as he considered.

“We would be back within the week. We can finish closing he rifts and head back to Skyhold then.”

The moments ticked by, the group awaiting his approval.  His eyes closed, and Ellana leaned forward with anticipation.

“Fine.”

She tried not to smile as he looked down on her, a harsh look of no nonsense on his face.

“But you will do as I say and you will not be walking, fighting, or otherwise straining yourself. Such things will only make it worse and then there will be no choice but to head back to Ferelden.”

“Yes, of course, Solas, of course.”

He gave another tired sigh and Ellana let her smile show at her victory.  
  
“Then we should be on our way.”

\---

  
She didn’t like the idea of leaving Cole or Cassandra there in the Plains. But there was little choice at this point.

They couldn’t abandon their soldiers here and Cassandra was more than capable of holding her own and leading them to a safe defense if not a victory. With the amount of demons scouring the area, they would need her.

Cole on the other hand…

“I will be alright. I can help here.”

Ellana smiled warmly down at the boy from the saddle of the Hart, her hand clasping his as bright blue eyes looked up at her.

They had to be going. The faster they got to the capitol the faster they could come back, or at least that’s what she kept telling herself.

“I know, I know.” She agreed, nodding, releasing the boy and straightening in the saddle and reminding herself that he was a whirlwind of violence as well as a gentle spirit. He would of course, be fine.

As Cassandra approached with Solas, carrying the sacks of bedrolls and food rations the Dalish had so generously imparted with them, she tried to seem less effected by leaving.

“Do exactly as Cassandra says, Cole.” She insisted as he nodded. “Do not leave her; I need you here in the Plains helping.”

“He will do as I say if he knows what’s good for him.” Cassandra grunted, tying off their packs and causing the Hart to shift anxiously. The beast’s large antlered head shook a bit and Ellana tensed, trying to keep her splinted leg steady as it moved.

A soft clicking sound came from below and Solas rounded the animal with a soothing noise from his mouth, hands grasping its head and whispering softly. The Hart quieted instantly, raising it’s head to the apostate’s with a silent understanding. It allowed him to circle around to it’s side and Solas began hoisting himself on behind the Inquisitor.

And then she was tense for another reason.

His legs righted themselves on either side, like hers, and his chest settled neatly behind her back. Suddenly, everything was very warm.

She felt her face flush, but kept her head down as long arms circled around her to grasp the reigns, and the heavy rolling voice she knew so well spoke so closely by her ear.

“We should only be gone a short time. Two days there and a few for rest, before another two back.”

“Do not get yourselves into any trouble.” Cassandra admonished and Solas’ chuckle from behind her tickled her spine as it vibrated low in his chest. The tips of her ears burned.    
  
Oh-- she had not thought this through.

After quiet goodbyes between anxious faces, Cole and Cassandra both wishing them well, they set off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite sure how many days/miles it is from Skyhold or Val Royeaux from the Plains -- but the latter does look much closer to the Plains on the map, especially considering the Frostbacks in the way.


	3. Mending

It was funny, she had never thought to ask Solas if he could ride, and yet she was not at all surprised to find him so skilled at it. Then again, she supposed she wouldn’t be surprised to find him experienced at anything. He could list the intricacies of breeding dragons and she wouldn’t at all be fazed by his vast knowledge of it.

Still, it was almost…pleasing to see how naturally he held the reigns, hear the effortless ‘ _Hyah_ ’ from his lips, and feel the beast beneath them respond in kind. 

She was thankful that a Hart ride was much smoother than a horse for they had set off at a brisk pace. Solas had them heralding across the Plains, the Hart giving a near trumpet call of a noise as they made their way North.

Ellana also wasn’t surprised that he seemed to need no directions.

The wind blew at her hair and her hands were playing a constant game of catch to keep it away from his face, praying quietly he wasn't bothered by it or her incessant moving. If he ever was, he said nothing.

Between that and trying to ignore the endless friction of his body on her back, the ride was a little more stressful than she imagined it would be.

She had thought to maybe make conversation, but it would be uncomfortable do so for all the problems of riding, not to mention the loudness of the storming hooves.

It wasn’t until the expanse of the plains soon grew heavier with forest and the hills turned into larger crevices full of shrubberies that they began to slow.

Her shoulders finally eased as they came to a trot but the Hart seemed to protest, rearing its large and heavy head backward.  
  
“Whoah—easy now.”

Ellana shivered and the Hart relaxed.

“I might have gotten our friend a little too excited.” Solas spoke and though she couldn’t see him, she could imagine the amusement on his face.

“You’ll get anyone that excited with how fast you were spurring us.” She admonished.

He laughed, full and loud, before quickly trying to curb it. She could hear him shut his mouth, the chuckles muffled but still audible.

“I apologize. I thought only to save time—we will not be able to run that quickly through the forest and there will be much of it towards the capitol.”

She nodded, not realizing he might not see it. They lapsed into a content silence as they eased into thicker foliage. The sun was arching past its climax in the sky, sending hot gold through the trees onto them.

While not happy with the situation, she had to admit that it was nice to leave the horrid view that was the Dirth. They had only been riding for so long now and already the sights were much greener and fuller with life.

She tilted her head up to look at the tops of the trees, only to bump her head on Solas’ chin.

“Sorry—“

“Apologies.”

They went quiet again.

Biting her lip, she decided against letting the strange nervousness overtake her. This was only Solas, after all. _Only._

“May I ask you—“

“How is your—“

They both stopped, effectively cutting each other off. She smiled widely and twisted in the saddle to show him her grin.

Solas looked back at her with a gleam in his pale eyes, and oh—he was very close, wasn’t he?

“Have something on your mind, hahren?”

“Only while you do, da’len.”

She laughed noisily at him; turning forward once more and finally letting her back ease fully against him. The relaxation of her muscles seemed to have a similar effect on him and they both lost the unspoken tension to rest easily against each other.

“You were going to ask me if you could ask me something, weren’t you?” He insisted, his voice somewhere right above the top of her head. She chuckled again, enjoying the feel of his arms resting lazily along hers, fingers only barely touching the leather of the reigns.

“Perhaps.”

“Well then you may.”

“I was only going to ask if you had been through this way before.”

He gave a short breath of an answer. “Yes, I have.”

“What for?”

He was quiet but she felt him shrug. “For the act of it. You know I journey across Thedas for the simple intent to do so.”

She thought about that. It was always something she had known. A wandering man looking for nothing but knowledge and no ties to bind him to any one place... But perhaps she had not considered the weight of that lifestyle. He would have time for… everything. And if it was true that he had lived this way since he was very young… then he would have scoured so many places already.

“Have we been anywhere you haven’t been before yet?” she asked almost dubiously.

The smile was in his voice. “Ah, well let’s see…”

She waited patiently, eyes trailing over trees and branches. He seemed to just be letting the Hart have its way with direction for now. Maybe it was a way to just let the creature rest for some time without losing any progress.

His finger tapped idly at her side and the action got her staring at his hands.

“I cannot say I have ever had the pleasure of visiting the Fallow Mire before joining the Inquisition.”

“Oh! What an honor!” She joked, leaning her head back boldly on his shoulder to get a better look into his face.

Solas directed his thoughtful look down at her. “While I can’t say it was my favorite place to visit, at least I can say I have been there now.”

His shoulder shifted to cradle her a bit more comfortably and for a moment Ellana considered moving away. It wasn’t exactly… appropriate (probably more so given her recent thoughtful dalliances about him.) But resting against him seemed natural when sharing the Hart, and the path was uneven, their balance better together as they ambled along.

And Solas did not seem to mind.

So she bit back her blush and stared ahead at the deepening trees. “You were going to ask me something?” Her spine melted against his chest, neck elongated to place her head heavily on his shoulder.

“I…” His voice trailed. She turned, eyes finding him staring at her with a blank expression. Somewhere near her wrist, his fingers scraped against her skin. She blinked slowly at him, waiting. Did he forget?

“I had meant to ask about your leg.”

Ellana glanced down at it. “Oh. Fine I suppose. I still can’t feel it.”

His brows creased into a frown.

“Is that bad?”

“It is from the loss of blood. I would wager that once you start to feel it again, it won’t be a pleasant sensation.” As they both stared down at her wrapped up splinted leg his own came behind hers, leaving the stirrup to prop her foot along his. “You should keep it steady and let me know if it starts to ache.”

“Have you broken bones before?” The question came unbidden from her lips and she was happy to see him smile at her knowingly.

“Many. Life as an apostate can be treacherous.”

“What have you broken?”

He looked at her curiously, as if surprised to hear her eagerness to learn of him. “Fingers, arms, a knee… my nose once.”

“Your nose?” She questioned, twisting a little to look up at the mentioned appendage as if to inspect it and see the evidence of the break. He chuckled down at her, eyes steady on the path before them, allowing her to take in the strong silhouette of his profile.

This close she could smell the strong musk of him, cloves, wax, and the overbearing scent of elfroot that no doubt came from his tending to her leg.

“What sort of dreaming are you doing that would cause you to break so many bones?”

“Not in the Fade, da’len!” He chided, his fingers jumping across her arm to squeeze her in an almost ticklish manner. She tensed against him with a laugh before relaxing once more. “Injuries like that only come from recklessness here in the living world.”

“Yes, Solas, but how?”

He glanced down at her then, an almost impish grin spreading across his smooth mouth. “I got into a tussle.”

“A tussle?” Her voice dipped a bit skeptically.

“Hm. At a tavern.”

She waited, but after no further explanation her eyes narrowed at him with a wry smile. “You got into a bar fight?”

“Some… humans were making an argument I did not agree with. And the night had been loose with inhibition.”

Ellana snorted through his carefully chosen words.

“You were drunk?”

“I was young.”

They both chuckled then, enjoying the warmth and ease of the conversation. The day was turning into evening with a threatening sunset and Ellana took the moment to enjoy the sight of it and the heavy weight that was his palm buried into the crook of her elbow.

She wanted to ask him the details. Or perhaps get him to tell her what happened to his fingers, or his knee. Would he have set them himself? All alone tending to broken bones in a tent or cave somewhere? Her thorough imagination pictured him in the rain, trying to wrap a splint along his knee. With no one else to help – how would one get from one place to another while they waited for it to heal? Cook or eat?

Ellana was used to rampant questions darting through her mind and while she entertained them with possible answers, she was a little too nervous to ask them aloud.

Solas had not yet spurned any of her inquiries since they had met. In fact, he had quite encouraged them. Often times she found herself near interrogating him and the extent of his knowledge. Without someone telling her ‘ _now isn’t the time,_ ’ or ‘ _that’s not something you should ask_ ,’ she found that she was wild with her rambling.

Solas had been utterly patient with her. But she wondered if that was his ample kindness.

Surely he grew tired of it as did most? Most of her questions were inane.

So she kept silent, trying to imagine what his explanations might be.

“It is quiet for a forest.” His voice murmured, and the heat of his breath told her his mouth was close to the shell of her ear.

She listened with him, the absence of wind making the crunch of leaves and underbrush loud beneath the hooves of the Hart.  There was only the distant echo of birds, light chirps and short calls.

“Where are we exactly?”  
  
“Judging by the distance and adapted terrain, we are just outside Montismmard now. It will be a few hours before we pass the city, then the Imperial Highway beyond it.”

“Will we not take the highway around to the capitol?” She questioned.

“With the Freemen warring with Gaspard and Celene’s forces – I can only imagine how battles to control the Highway will look like. Not to mention, it will simply be faster to cut straight through the Heartlands to cross the bridge.”

“You think there will be that much fighting in a city like Montismmard?”

“It is a strategic area of defense. Were I a general, I would see it as an opportunity. And were I someone on the opposing side I would risk war in a city to take control over routes for trade and soldiers.” He looked older then, very much an experienced and revered ha'hren. The statement reminded her of the words exchanged between him and Blackwall. War, battle. He had been a soldier… of some kind before.

Her lips pursed. She wanted to ask, desperately she did. Because what sort of Elvhen apostate was a soldier? He was no Dalish protector and never had he been in a Circle (or had he?). Would he have fought in the battles between Gaspard and Celene?

No—he had no stake in the matter currently. And when she had asked his opinion on the state of Orlais he could not have seen more indifferent altogether.

So what then? Mere memories he had stolen from battles remembered in the Fade? It couldn’t be. Even now his eyes seemed distant and occupied as they considered the forest before them. He must have lived some of it.

Solas must have felt her watching him, because he looked down at her resting on his shoulder with a slightly raised brow.

“Inquisitor?”

“Where were you during the Blight?”

His pupils dilated, she could see the black circles twist in size in the ice that was his eyes. A light tinge of confusion colored his face before his lips curled in an almost forced smile.

“What a question!” He exclaimed, dragging up her embarrassment. She turned away from him, hands grasping her face and mouth. Did she have no filter?  
  
“Sorry! I just—“

“Far, da’len, farther north than you might imagine when word came out about the Blight.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, my mind gets away from me and I…”

“Not at all.” He reassured, his fingers squeezing at her arm. She settled again, turning to stop her absent staring at him. ‘ _Just leave him alone_.’ She berated herself even as her mind buzzed with new questions. North as in, near Tevinter? Or farther? What was it like that high above Thedas? Colder or hotter? Did he see any refugees or darkspawn that far?

She shook away the curiosities, focusing instead on the feel of him along her. It wasn’t had, as it had been subconsciously distracting the entire time.

A thumb rolled across her sleeve and Ellana watched in fascination as his fingers lightly caressed the crook of her arm. Her eyes flickered secretly up at his face, but he seemed preoccupied, his expression straight and his eyes forward.

She tried not to smile, though it was hard. The most likely thoughtless gesture was touching, even if only a sign of their friendliness with each other.

The trek was slow and steady, shadows of trees dancing across them and the golden sun dying into coming hues of blue. The Hart would make noise at times, snuffling and scuffing. A soothing sound that had her eyes dropping low to listen to the softness of everything.

After some time her hips began to ache a little from being saddled for so long, but it wasn’t persistent and the small discomfort could not compete against the persuasive warmth that was Solas’ shoulder, or the feel of his thumb rubbing her arm back and forth.

At some point, her hand came up to steal his.

Her hazy mind was drifting, but she longed to feel the caress on her skin, so her fingers met his, stilling them from their movements so she could entangle them together.

She heard a distant catch of breath above her, but ignored it. Grabbing his fingers sent clenching heat and tingling nerves through her cheeks and into her stomach. She stared at her fingers pulling at his, determined to measure his long ones against her short ones.

His hand didn’t move. He had gone limp, allowing her to spread his fingers and twist his hands.

She pressed her nails into his palm, felt his calluses, and rapt her knuckles on his nails.

Ellana lost herself in the sensation, even as her leg began to throb. Her eyes shut gently as her consciousness sank and after a bit more, she released him.

But he followed her almost immediately.

Solas entangled his fingers in hers and rubbed his thumb on her palm insistently, seemingly determined to pay back the favor or beg her back to the action.

She kept her eyes closed, but a smile broke secretly on her face.

 

\---

 

Solas hadn’t known she had fallen asleep until they left the borders of Montismmard.

The sun had long died, and insects replaced birds for ambiance. 

His mind had been elsewhere; half in memory and half in the sensation of skin against skin.

It was when he had been contemplating making camp that he realized the weight of her head rolled on his clavicle, and her even breathing pushed like waves against his heart. At first his worry escalated and he went to wake her, to keep her from succumbing to the blood loss. The threat of the metal in her veins and the pain she would no doubt feel in these coming days were a ticking itch in the back of his mind.

But he knew the exhaustion of such an ordeal too. He let her sleep, knowing that he would be there to correct anything that should go wrong.

He had followed the terrain as it dipped low, tracked the trickling promises of water along the ground to the quaintest of creeks. He knew them well past the Highway now, having taken shortcuts to avoid the public road. And when he had found a good a place as any to camp, a little outcropping of thick lush grass by the creek, he stopped their Hart and contemplated.

Ellana was still, a quiet sleeper, her fingers curled neatly in the center of his palm.

Solas looked down at her, only able to see the downward sweep of her lashes and the curve of her cheek. Her vallaslin peeked up at him too, a taunt that the ink that marred her skin always had the privilege to do so.

Her pointed ear was close enough to his mouth to kiss.

He dipped low as if to do just that, arms pulling her just a little tighter against his body.

‘ _Sweet surrender, indeed_.’ He thought, remembering Cole’s words.

And he could think of more words too, without the help of a spirit. Seduction, swift and sudden and solid. Here and now and not in a dream, but real and ready.

He closed his eyes as his nose touched the softness of her hair and he breathed.

Blue eyes opened once more, his arms rising to grasp her shoulders. His head tilted, jaw tight as he whispered kindly.

“Ellana.”

His hand was cold without hers now, but he ignored the feeling to smile sadly instead at the hitch in her breath and the hesitation in her eyelids.

“Ellana, wake a little now, lethellan.”

“Solas?” Her voice was heavy with sleep and confusion. She tried to seek him out, hands smacking her own arms.

“Yes, Solas.” He confirmed, chuckling. “Will you be able to sit up alone?”

When her eyes flickered open her head bobbed in confirmation. She babbled, trying to appear not asleep. “Yes, what is it? I’m here. Yes—Agreed.”

His hands gripped her shoulders to keep her steady as he rocked with contained laughter.

“Solas? Y-you needed something?” Her voice was a near drawl and though he couldn’t see her face he didn’t doubt her eyes were still closed. She stiffened, head jerking in an odd fashion. “I’m awake—yes—continue.”

He shook his head at her from behind, his chest tight with ignored adoration.

He leaned in again, whispering hotly in her ear, unable to help himself. “Keep yourself up, Ellana.”

She gasped.

And with that he crossed his leg over, hefting himself out of the saddle.

“Solas?”

He watched her sway a little, those delicate eyes blinking rapidly to try and wake herself up.

“Wait for me a moment.” He spoke, patting her thigh. He began unwrapping the ties to their packs.

The Hart was patient, for which he was thankful, as Ellana seemed anything but, her head lolling on her neck in panful fashions. He imagined she would be up and in much discomfort soon. With feeling back in her leg she would bear the full force of the growing pains mending in her shin bone.

He made quick work of their packs, experienced in traveling just like this, making sure to set up one of the bedrolls right away. They would not need tents this night, but she would need sleep and somewhere to sit if she could not walk on her own.

And finally, he circled the perimeter with a sweeping hand, flares of searing energy darting out to the corners of their little glen. Wards. The intelligent magic entangled itself in the air around him, familiar and reassuring.

Returning to the Hart’s side, his hand graced the Inquisitor’s knee, shaking it gently. “Ellana.”

She was slouched heavily, eyes still fighting the sleep.

“I’m so sorry…” She near whispered. “I’m so…”

“I know. It was bound to happen after such a long day of pain and adrenaline.”

She seemed to nod, and his arms rose to grasp her ribs, tugging at her. “Come, da’len.”

At the insistence the leaned toward him, her hands finding purchase in the folds of his clothes. He took on the weight of her, sure to watch her splinted leg as he pulled her from the Hart.

The animal helped, walking forward to release her from its saddle and Solas hushed words at her quickly as he began to set her on the ground.

“Lift your leg Ellana, do not stand on it.”

“Y-Yes.”

He was as gentle as he could be, setting her down.

“AH!” She cried and he near cursed, her hands squeezing his shoulders as she leaned against him. What had he just said?

He shook his head at her, looking down to see the now popped up leg.

“I’m awake now.” She muffled into his chest.

“I imagined so.”

“I forgot.”

“You did.”

It wouldn’t work this way. She was too tired, and he could already hear her yelps of pain should they attempt to hop her over to the bedroll. So without a word he bent low, arms enclosing around her waist and knees.

“No—What are you—“

She was light and willowy, just as he had always imagined.

“Solas?”

And then there she was.

The dark of the night wasn’t harsh enough to cover the moon, and its light traced the curved of her cheek and the color of her eyes. Her fingers pulled on his tunic, riding the slope of his shoulders to his chest.

There was such curiosity in her eyes, such an innocent and honest language there. The want to know, the need for understanding, it was written there in the parting of her lips and the dip of her brows. The look was a bad one.

_Worse._

Worse, it was directed at him.

“We will need to clean your leg of blood and apply new bandages to it.” He declared to himself as much as to her.

He took them past their makeshift camp towards the creek, letting the sound of it distract his imagination to the weight of her in his arms and the trust in her hands.

When he had her settled neatly along the creek’s edge he set to work on getting her leg free. He knelt at her side, fingers dancing across her skin.  She insisted on helping at first, but he argued.

“You are far too preoccupied yawning your mind and body into the Fade to help.”

Her face had turned red, hand pausing in mid cover of her yawn.

She watched him as he worked, her eyes lazy yet interested. She was reclined back on her elbows, hair askew from the Hart ride and sleeping against him. She almost looked as if she had been ravished and a heat curled inside him at the thought.

“How does it work exactly?”  
  
He raised brows at her, an acknowledgment of her question and an encouragement to continue, while banishing his previous thoughts.  
  
“Mending the bone with magic?”

“Explaining _that_ process will surely send you to sleep.”

“Pl-please.” She asked, pausing to gasp at the cold of the water when he dipped her now-free leg in slowly. “I want to know.”

He smiled fondly. “It’s a matter of will as all magic is, a wish imprinted upon reality.”

His hand dipped into the cold water with her leg, the current pulling at the wet a dry patched of blood and whisking it away. “When you conjure fire with magic you do it by willing the memories of heat and warmth to your hands. If you can picture it clearly, you can make a perfect flame.”

His hands scratched lightly at her skin, tensing her muscles. He pulled his fingers lower, passing over her ankle, the temptation to cradle her delicate foot too great to pass up the excuse. He memorized her impulsive smile and tickled laugh at his touch as he continued.

“It is the same for healing. Your body already wants to mend itself; you just need to help it remember the way it’s supposed to feel.”

“I’m supposed to remember how it feels to have a leg that isn’t broken?” She asked skeptically, her smile wry.

“Therein lies the hard part for most mages.” Solas agreed. His palm skimmed up her shin, grasping her there, he let the water finish its work, and then began seeping his will into her flesh.

“All ones needd to do is tell your body to act as it should, but give it guidance. I could think of how my own leg feels…my blood, my bones—and share those sensations with you.” The light of his spell twisted faintly in the air like smoke and heat emanated from his fingers.

He took his time healing her, heating her. He made the muscles pliant and reactive, willing them to stitch. He chases away the inevitable pain by numbing her once more, all the while caressing her own magical aura with his.

He tried no to provoke the magic that surrounded her, but it was hard not to tease his mana on hers, if only a little.

“Of course, that is a simplified way to explain the theory. The process of actually weaving your muscles and bone back together is more a...”

When he glanced up her eyes were closed.

Solas continued without speaking, taking time to knit some of her skin together, mere increments. Anything more would be too fast. Trying to find any infection proved impossible though—too soon to tell. He took perhaps longer than he should have and even more time to dry her off and we-wrap her splint.

When he finished she was once again fully asleep.

He picked her up without protest, hushing her slight noises as he headed back to the bedroll.

She was set down as carefully as he could manage, her hair spilling out like colored water and he lips parting with a breath of comfort.

And there he was, kneeled above her, his fingers curled into the fabric of her tunic as if looking for directions to her skin. There in the night, in the quiet of the forest she was real in his arms, asleep, limp --defenseless. And she gave herself into the Fade knowing she could because he was there to take care of her.

What trust that was... He was almost floored.

How many times had he slept in the safety of isolation to visit spirits? The amount of times was vast but he didn’t think he could ever do it in the presence of another. Not like this, not like she was.

And yet… he might be able to do it with her.

He took off her other shoe, unwrapped some of her armor, undid the latches of her extra layers and settled her in to sleep in the coverings of the cot. All the while trying to pretend that caring for someone else, watching out for them like he was now for the first time in perhaps ages, was not as natural as it felt.

Nor as desired as the tightness in his chest claimed it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am utterly determined not to describe my Lavellan as much as possible, so she might be any of your Lavellans. Unfortunatly if you picked one of the bald ones your shit out of luck. She has at least enough hair to whip about. Sorry about the name -- I tried it without a first name but it's just so formal, ugh.


	4. Festering

She did not wake kindly.

She was ripped from the hazy blankness of the Fade by a sharp, piercing cold pain in her leg.

Jerking awake her body contracted and she twisted her leg about as if to get away from whatever was trying to stab her. But moving it only made the sensation even more unbearable and her gasps and yelps filled her ears as she scrambled to sit up, hands tearing at sheets and covers to get to her leg.

Her sleepy eyes were wide and uncomprehending as she looked for a knife or a trap—

A hunting trap.

When her memories snapped into place Ellana heaved forward, hands gripping her knee as she bared the brunt of the pain. Her leg throbbed incessantly, reminding each and every nerve how broken they were.

Her eyes shut, but not before she caught the sight of the freshly bloodied bandages dripping bright red onto the bedroll beneath her.

She let the pain wash through her, holding her head in her hands and breathing sharply, waiting for it all to subside.

Having been yanked so quickly from sleep, Ellana slowly leaned back on the cot to fully take in her surroundings.

She found she didn’t remember much of where she was, the makeshift camp small but adequate. There was a campfire with its flames long gone, a folded pile of her shoes, armor and extra layers of her clothing, and her staff lay close enough to reach. There was no other bedroll laid out, but a few packs of supplies. Hers and Solas—

“Solas?”

Her voice filled the air of the forest almost awkwardly in its isolation.

There was no reply in the early dew of the morning, the sun not yet broken through the gray sky. No Solas and no Hart either.

She swallowed.

He must be here somewhere? Only he could have been responsible for setting camp and settling her to sleep.

She flushed slightly, looking down at her undone clothes and bare feet.

The memory of his long fingers tracing her skin under the weight of water came back to her easily then, drawing up more memories of those hands entangled in her own, caressing and soothing her skin.

There was heat on her neck and she did her best to distract herself by drawing her legs closer.

She was careful to try and avoid smearing blood on any more of the bedroll, her fingers lightly dancing over the bandages to see about taking them off. If Solas wasn’t here then she would need to maneuver around on her own. Not that he had left.

Because he wouldn’t, she knew he wouldn’t.  
  
The wrappings peeled from her skin in pinches, making her suck in air through her teeth. The skin around the holes from the trap had turned a sicker shade of yellow, tinted with hues of blue around the dark red wounds. Not a good sign.

She raised her hands, fingers pulling at the air around her tentatively. Tingling magic thrummed into her palms, weak but eager. Her hands went to her leg to—

“And what is it you think you are doing?”

Oddly enough, she gasped with a jump, twisting to the side in surprise. “Solas!”

He emerged from the brush, his hand leading the reigns as the large Hart followed, snuffling the air and following him into the clearing of the camp.

His voice had sounded cross, but there was a soft smile on his lips. “Good Morning, Inquisitor.”

She let her hands drop, magic gone, returning his caring expression with a smile of her own. “Morning.”

“It is good to see you awake,” He strode forward easily, letting the Hart amble around the clearing. He came to kneel before her, eyes fixated on the mess of her leg. “Although my suspicions seem confirmed.”

“It’s festering.” She commented softly worry laced in her tone.

“No, just struggling to heal.” His hands erupted in warm light and magic, the air snapping to attention and seeping into his expertly moving fingers. She watched with intense interest, the cut skin around the holes of her wound growing like unfurling leaves, expanding and stitching together.

“I can’t numb you from the pain any longer—not if we want you to heal properly.”

“Does doing that stop me from healing?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” He looked at her with slight regret. “You will have to endure it, at least until we reach Val Royeaux.”

“Do you think I could be sick? From the old metal?”

Solas hummed lowly, his hand kindly wiping away some of the dried blood from her leg. “It is a possibility.”

“Would they… have to cut my leg off?’

Solas’ head snapped up, eyes catching hers with confusion and raised brows. “Cut it off? Why does that solution come to your mind?”

Ellana bit her lip, “I heard that it blackens and needs to be cut before it reaches my heart.”

He laughed and the sound had her feeling utterly foolish but relieved. “And who told you that?”

“One of the Dalish hunters from the Exalted-“

“No.” He was looking at her with a calm reassurance and a hint of amusement. “Perhaps if we did not take care to keep the wound clean, it would need to be cut. But that is not caused from the rust.”

“That’s… relieving.” She chuckled a bit, before furrowing her brows once more. “But you’re still worried..?”

“The rust would cause your muscles to contract. Painfully.” He explained. His eyes looked over her body in thought, thumb tracing idly down her calf. “You would spasm out of your control. It is a paralyzing infliction.”

Well that didn’t sound much better. Solas seemed to catch the uneasiness on her face. “It starts slow, and we will make it to the city with more than enough time to stop that from occurring.”

“Of course,” She agreed, nodding at him with forced confidence.

“Come, we should eat and depart.”

Solas stood from her, retrieving a sack from the Hart’s saddle full with fruits he had been gathering that morning. Along with water and dried meat from their own rations, they spent the time quietly eating while discussing their route.

The sun had yet to come even as she gathered her clothes and Solas set to packing the bedroll and campsite.

“Did the Hart eat?” She questioned, getting up to a wobbly one-legged stand.

Solas chuckled while shrugging on his own extra layers. “Very much.”

“Does it eat grass and moss like the Halla do?”

“As well as fruits, seeds, and the top of my staff when I am not looking.”

She laughed, smiling gleefully at him as he came to her, offering an arm to help her limp forward. She tried not to lean too heavily on him, but placing any amount of weight on the leg was a threat to more pain. Pain she was already trying to ignore.

The Hart seemed to understand the intention, its feet shifting eagerly and its head watching them carefully. It was a beautiful beast with a dark coat of gray that shone blue and hints of red stripes on its hind quarters.

“Does it have a name?” She asked as he helped hoist her onto the saddle, careful to hold her splinted leg still.

Solas seemed to try and recall the idea but shook his head. “If they named it they did not think to share it with me.”

“Perhaps we should then?”

“Oh? Do you have a suggestion?” He teased, his hands brushing past her thigh to climb on behind her.

She tried to ignore the soft whisper of his clothes on hers, the heat exuding from him into her back, and the puff of breath by her ear. His arms encircled hers once more, grabbing the reins.

“Divine?”

She could feel Solas laugh quietly from the slow vibration on her back. “As in, The Divine?”

“She has very large antlers, and it seems as regal as the headdresses of the Chantry.” Ellana mused.

Solas shook his head, hands snapping the reins and getting the Hart to a soft trot. It kicked quietly with excitement lacing through its movements. “ _He_ does not strike me as Andrastian.”

“He? How can you tell?”

“Easily, the females do not have antlers at all.”

“Oh. Black Divine then.” He laughed much louder that time and Ellana found she loved making Solas laugh. It was genuine and unrestrained, as if he did not do it often or didn’t allow himself too. And suddenly she realized that he must not have, if he found himself alone all the time, wandering Thedas without company.

“If you’re trying to offend everyone, why not name him Hessarian? Or Maferath?”

“What about Shartan?”

Solas gave a quiet hum of consideration, the buzz of the sound thrumming through her ear. “The question still remains whether or not our _Dalish_ bred Hart would like such a name.”

“ _Falon_ then.” She settled, the Elvhen warm and familiar, “But for ’ _Guide_ ’. And should he be announced at Val Royeaux, Divine Falon I.”

More laughter, Solas’ voice hitching into a bit of a snort. “A fine compromise.”

She relaxed against him, finding that the awkwardness between them the day before wasn’t present any longer.

Falon seemed eager to run, his canter pronounced with a loud call through the woods. They sped further and in a rush the Hart jumped, Solas’ arms wrapping quickly around her waist and squeezing her close to him.

“Woah!” Ellana tensed, her head pressed against his neck and shoulder as they landed in a swift movement. Solas looked to her, their closeness causing his cheek to brush across her forehead briefly.

“It seems we will be making good time.”

Ellana forced herself to laugh as her cheeks flooded with color. Solas’s arms didn’t linger around her waist, returning to the reigns. And she couldn’t determine if that was relieving or disappointing.

 

\---

 

“Solas, are there animal spirits?”

The question broke the silence they had settled into. They had traveled mostly out of the forest, congested trees breaking into hillocks of clear meadows. The Hart, Falon, had taken to sprinting, correcting Solas on his direction for something a little more wild. When they had slowed, the creature breathing heavily, the sun had finally crested on the horizon.

He should have guessed her silence was a contemplative one. Ellana was not one to waste her free time with thoughts that didn’t provoke her some way. It was with a welcome smile that he engaged her.

“You mean to ask if there are spirits that take animal form? Or spirits that are animals in behavior as well?”

He let her decide while he considered her far off eyes and the way the sun shone of the edges of her face’s silhouette. It was like a kiss of gold leaf on the walls of his rotunda at Skyhold and the urge to mimic the unique vision burned in his fingers.

“Both.”

“Then yes.”

“To both?”

The curve of his mouth twitched further. “What is it you are wondering?”

“Well… I know spirits can come in the forms of animals. I’ve come across birds and rodents before… but are there spirits for animals? If animals dream as we do? Can animals become spirits when they die as mortals can?”

Well. That was something he had never contemplated. His mind lit with the topic, trying to dissect the idea to give her some sort of answer.

“I suppose they do dream, but the true question would be whether or not they have the ability to cross the Veil to the Fade.”

He looked down at her, only to find those ever curious eyes looking up at him expectantly.

“Oh, you expect an answer.”

Her cheeks tinted and she looked away. “Well—“

“No, let me provide you with one.” He smiled, finding his heart enduring more tightness from the endless actions she surprised him with. Such inquisitiveness. How appropriate.

“No, lethallan. I do not believe they do cross the Veil, since I have yet to encounter animals that have taken such a fate.”

“How would you know?”

Solas frowned deeply, his brows narrowing at the horizon before them.

Ellana twisted in his arms. “Sorry—I don’t mean to—“

“I suppose I would not.” He interrupted, not allowing her to apologize for wanting to learn, for wanting to understand and grow. Not when he had such compelling lines of thought in her presence.

His brows rose with the short revelation she had just given him. 

“I suppose a number of spirits I have encountered could be or have been animals. Especially since we do not know the true extent of their minds in reality... Demons have possessed bodies of animals before, it could very well be because they were tempted as they slept.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Now I must wonder at my own encounters!”

He dipped his eyes to hers, smiling fondly. “A perceptive thought, Ellana.”

She shook her head, looking away with an embarrassed smile. “A silly one!”

“No, not at all.” Not ever. He tried to sound encouraging. Her curiosity sparked passion in him and he wouldn’t have her hide it from him.

They carried on, this time unmistakable warmth in their silence. He let his hand settle against hers as it held the reigns. The tips of his fingers pressed against the back of her palm. It wasn’t nearly the amount of affection he could wish to impart on her, but it would be have to be enough.

Because there wasn’t quite a way for him to explain to her how much he enjoyed her company. Since the smaller fleeting conversations they had in Haven, her presence was a soothing balm of shared interests and compelling questions. Ellana had been a person he had not minded sharing his travels with, perhaps because she so eagerly awaited hearing them. And for the first time, he found himself looking forward to being parted from his isolation to share words or silence with her. It wasn’t something he expected from a Dalish.

In fact, it wasn’t something he expected from anyone.

He could not lie to himself about how natural it felt, but he did well to ignore it.

As they continued, her head came to rest on his chest and look out toward the sun and he had fleeting curiosity if she felt similar.

No doubt she was more used to company than he was. She must have been close with her clan, how could she not have been?

This could just be something familiar to her. A piece of her clan for her to lean back on, because he was not oblivious enough to miss the way she listened for his words through most of their companions’. It was something that touched him and cautioned him.

But he supposed even if he was only a bit of her home, her nostalgia, it was still… kind to be seen as such.

The musings itched against his mind and he and he tried to ignore them once more. It wasn’t important in the midst of everything else.

So he took his smaller opportunities for selfishness, reveling in the weight of her back, the tease of her hair on his chin, and occasional brush of skin from her hand to his nails.

Enough for now, distractions to sate anything more.

“But what about the spirits that—“

Ellana paused, shifting in front of him as her head turned fully to the right, looking out onto the horizon.

Ah, she had finally seen it then.

Solas had been trying to ignore the prickling Veil beneath his skin. His eyes had caught the shifting sky nearer the sunrise, green tinges of light highlighting the morning sky. A rift, to the west over the hillock, alive and crackling in the distance.

“Solas—“

“No.”

Her face twisted, eyes looking up to search his. But he knew what she was intending.

“There is no room to even consider such an endeavor in your state.”

“I wasn’t going to ask—“

“Were you not?” He questioned looking down at the Inquisitor’s guilty expression. He gave her an amused smile. “You weren’t going to suggest we go over there?”

She glanced back at the green traces of Fade before she twisted fully, her leg pushing herself up and breast brushing his chest as she faced him.

Solas kept his eyes forward as soon as he caught sight of the imploring expression on her face begin to take hold.

“Ha'hren—“  
  
He openly laughed at the obvious appeal to him.

“We can’t just leave it open out here.”

“Can we not?” He argued without looking at her, careful not to lose himself in the upturn of her brows. “How many rifts do you think there are in Thedas? I would wager many, more than accountable for. One more left unclosed will not affect our journey.”

“Yes, but we are here now, we never leave them open once we see them. I’m the only one who can—“

“And therefore invaluable. To throw yourself at one small rift in your injured state—“

“Ha-‘’

“No, da’len.” He bit out the word. If she wanted an elder she would have one.

Her brows narrowed a bit more before she went silent, looking away from him.

Solas knew better than to think she was relenting. He had admired her from distances long enough to recognize the quiet calculation running through that indomitable focus.

“We do not have to fight anything.”

“And how do suppose that?” He indulged, tone flat.

“The anchor can disrupt the rift from a good distance—if we are just close enough for me to focus on it, we can force it closed. The demons would not survive without the rift feeding them energy.” Her voice was steady and confident, her authority that of the leader of an entire Inquisition. “So long as we close it fast enough, we wouldn’t have to face any demons.”

“I—“

“And it’s small enough; it won’t take much of my energy. And you will be there to cast a barrier as strong as you are able.” Ellana placed a hand on his shoulder now. “We can’t leave it open. Not when some travelers can stumble upon it and…”

He made the mistake of looking down at her tender expression once her voice dipped gently.

“And the longer it stays open, the more spirits are pulled to this realm as demons.”

It was a ploy and yet it wasn’t. She said it not only because she knew he would bend to it and also because it was true. He would see it there, in her gaze, the compassion plain on her face.

He gave a hard tug on reigns just as he ripped his gaze away from her.

“ _Fenehdis_ , da’len.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do animals get to talk to spirits too? Ellana asks the tough questions.


	5. Broken

She was giddy crouching there, body twisted awkwardly as she peered over the outcropping of boulders, and eyes flickering down the incline of the hill.

“A Rage demon. Of course. A few shades as well.”

Ellana ignored Solas’ unhappy tone. It wasn’t bad considering they had come upon rifts that had spat out Terror demons. She shivered thinking about them.

They had left Falon some yards away, the Hart oblivious to their endeavors as it grazed on the moist grass.

It almost felt surreal, to be looking at demons and torn rifts in the Veil so early in the morning. Almost like a strange dream with green meadows in golden sunlight and abominations dwelling about the flowers.

They were a safe distance away though. Both had suppressed their auras as not to be detected by the demons and the incline was high enough to slow the things down should they come for them.

She took the time to observe them, watching the rage demon morph absurdly into itself and burn the ground as it circled the cackling vibrations of the rift above.

“I… always wondered but we never had time to…” She trailed, turning to find Solas anticipating her question already. “What is it they are doing? Why sit here? Why not leave?”

He glanced from the rocks down at them. “I imagine they are not yet strong enough to risk any further than the rift. They feed from the Fade.” He said simply, before his voice continued with a quieter intention. “And perhaps they did not want to venture this plane in the first place.”

She looked again, to see them in a different light.

“We need to close it.”

Solas puffed out air tiredly through his mouth but did not openly disagree. Instead he shrugged off his pack and righted his staff on the ground. “They will know we are here as soon as you tether the rift.”

“Then we should do it at the same time, your barrier and my anchor. If we can hold long enough, we shouldn’t have to fight.”

“By your lead.”

He nodded, but Ellana did not miss his slightly creased brow, eyes narrowed with apprehension. It made the small indentation on his skin more prominent and she had the urge to smooth it.

She found better purchase on the boulder, drawing her good leg up for better traction while the splinted one hung limply. The anchor cracked slightly in her palm as she raised her hand, fingers tensing.

Solas stood ready beside her, his own mana pooling in the air around them, a cold shivering sensation like a frosty air about to snap.

Ellana took one last glance at the rage demon and the shades, gliding around the bottom of the hill like a hungry pack of wolves, before looking up at the sparkling tear in the sky.

With a crack she thrust her hand forward and the anchor ignited to life. Heat rushed through her body as she tethered to the rift contrasting the cool sheet of cold cascading over her as Solas threw down his barrier.

She kept her eyes on the sky, the rift pulling, yanking, and fighting to stay open. It yanked physically on her nerves, but the anchor was hot and she could feel herself suck the energy from the torn Veil. Adrenaline spiked when she heard the noises, loud thick screeches of demons.

How close were there already?

The humming of the rift filled her ears, and she could make out Solas’ voice just barely, “Once it’s ruptured it will be weak to a second wave! You have to close it before more come through!”

She could feel the pull of his mana, his magic thrusting outward through the sky beside her and she wondered if he was already fighting the demons scrabbling toward them.

The humming was louder now, the morphing rift tightening into a hot mass of energy. It coiled tight together and she knew it would combust soon.

Just a little more--

A scream rang out so loud it felt like metal grinding against her bones. Her eyes closed as the ringing pierced her mind and shook through her skin. It was almost painful.

The heightened noises exploded into deafening silence just as the rift backfired on her, the tether snapping and the force shoving her off her feet.

Ellana hit the ground harshly, spine arching as she rolled to the side.

She heard Solas shout, but it was muffled behind her deaf ears.

Her eyes blinked fast as she sat up, trying to see the rift so she could raise her hand to disrupt it and stop demons from pouring through. It would expand first—they would come fast--

But another scream hit her and she finally realized what it was coming from.

There already were more demons.

Solas yelled.

“Despair—!“

The cloaked demon’s hands shot out before its body appeared, grim fingers lunging to grasp her throat and shove her down.

Her eyes widened as smoke billowed from its form and its faceless head bared its wormhole mouth, clicking teeth shifting in circles.

Its aura encroached her, the void of its gaping maw sucking at nothing as its hands held her still on the ground. Thick magic began forming inside its mouth and Ellana knew that its next scream would be frost that would rip her apart.

Instinctively she exploded in flames.

Her own magic roared in defense, wildfire that burned hot and made the wretch scream and moan, releasing her to claw at its pain.

She wasted no time in scrambling backward, trying to get to her feet and get away from the Despair demon. But it shrieked for her, its body unfurling in the sky and mouth roaring with ice. The blast barreled toward her fast and Ellana yelled even as she threw up a barrier of her own.

It hit, shattering her meager defense and sending her sprawling to the ground once more. Her skin felt burnt from the cold through her clothes and she felt her leg pang from discomfort. She rolled to her knees, trying to ignore it.

Her eyes caught Solas for mere seconds, his staff rounding through the air above his head as he sent thick frost barreling into the rage demon that lunged for him. She could see him trying to look for her, fighting them off desperately to get over to her aid.

The Despair demon wailed, reminding her of its oncoming attack.

She got to her feet to run in the other direction, but a fissure ripped through the ground and long wiry arms shot through the air from the swirling green.

Terror.

Its long body crawled from the Fade and it screamed in unison with Despair.

“Ellana!”

“Solas—“

She staggered with a limp leg and bent knees, her focus for magic shaken by the shock of two demons cornering her.

“Solas!”

She looked for him, panic beginning to seep into her panting breath and flickering eyes.

A whirlpool of magic energy erupted around him from across the grass, his body crouching low between the onslaughts of shades. She could feel the strange distortion he was causing, sucking mana from the air like a void or a tear in the Fade.

His staff went low in his hands, eyes closing, and in her panic she tried to call for him.

Bright, brilliant light shined in a ring around him before flying out like a ripple of hot sunlight. Burning through the air it seared down the demons around him, making them scream and dissipate like ink in water.

The powerful magic came and went instantly and when it was gone the shades and rage demon were no more than ichor on the grass.

But with a cold shrill hiss she realized that Terror and Despair were still there, angry and lunging for her.

This time Solas was coming for her, his staff a beacon of light flinging hot flurries of intense willpower into the Despair demon. It screamed and cried, desperately trying to hit him with frost.

But Terror wanted her, its long skeletal body sprinting for her as she backed away.

“Ellana run!”

She twisted, and ran, stepping straight through the Fade with all her willpower.

The magic consumed her, body light and weightless as she focused on ghosting across the plain. The sky seemed to shift, vision blurred, and when her body grew heavy again she bent her knees to land.

She realized too late what that would mean.

Her leg snapped in excruciating pain, a loud cracking sound that sent her straight to her knees as soon as she had landed ten yards away. The step through the Fade had been too straining on it. She cried out, voice filling the air as hot tears welled in her eyes.

The pain was near unbearable.

But then haunting green swirled on the grass… Ellana’s eyes watched as dread filled her chest and the Terror demon pulled itself out of the ground in front of her.

She tried to crawl away, her leg useless, but those sickly hands groped for her. They snatched her ankle and pulled. Heavy noises dripped from its mouth above her as it loomed, claws digging into her flesh.

She could hear Solas still fighting – so far away now--

With a harsh yank she was lifted to the air, the abomination wailed as it pulled her towards its decrepit mouth. Its hands grasping at her neck and shoulders, she tried to kick desperately, wrestling with its hold.

Her hand smashed against its face and she cringed at the feel of its decayed dead skin. She needed instinct again, magic, something—she just needed to ignore the pain and—focus!

A snap of aura, sudden and brilliant and the ground broke open. Thick earthen tendrils of plants shot out from the ground, impaling the Terror demon. It writhed, hissing and dropping her.

The roots of the earth twisted around the demon, suffocating it in soil and dragging it downward to the ground as if to swallow it.

Warm, familiar, Keeper magic... It laced through her, bent to her will from her raised hands. Panting she tried to strengthen her determination, watching the vines snap the demon in half and reduce it to a steaming waste pile of splintered bones.

Dead.

In the moment of silence she gave a shaky breath, eyes looking up to the rift, still green and crackling.

All she had to do was close it now.

“Ellana!—“

Her eyes snapped to Solas, watching him reach a hand out to her from across the field.

The Despair demon’s form disappeared in the sky behind him.

Cold frost filled the air before her, just as it reappeared in front of her.

Its banshee scream filled her vision and its void mouth blocked her from the rift.

Pooling the very last of her energy, the very last of her will and mana, she thrust her arm out and ignited the anchor.

Despair’s shrieking went silent as the hot green tether ripped straight through its mouth to the torn Veil. It wriggled, hands burning against the Fade leash, slowly dying until the power of it.

The hole in the sky bent immediately to her command.

It hummed, loud and hot as she focused, thinking nothing but of it gone—closed—ripped—

It exploded in a loud bang that seemed to shake the ground beneath them, her fist pulling backward at the force of letting it go.

The green light was gone in an instant.

Despair’s body misted into the sky like dust.

It was closed.

Ellana breathed heavily, letting her fist fall to the ground beside her where she sat.

The morning sun was over the horizon now and shining color into the meadows.

She was numb, eyes blinking at the bare field.

“Ellana!” She heard Solas first and then felt him, hands grasping her shoulders, her hands, her face.

When she saw him she was still in a daze, watching his pale eyes look her over with stark worry. He was burning, or his magic was. It was a cloud of power around him.

She remembered the ring she had seen searing the demons around him, burning them in seconds.

He said something slow and soft in Elvhen, his eyes on her leg.

Finally she looked down.

Her clothes were a mess of demon ichor, dirt, and blood. She felt heavy in the weight of it all, torn leathers and oh…

Her leg was nothing but red. Bright and vivid like corrupted lyrium. It even looked like the crystals, jagged and jutting, her bandages ripped and her skin torn with it… so much so that it all looked the same.

A peek of white jagged bone made her eyes swim.

“I—I broke—“

“Shh—“ He quieted immediately, making her look up at his face instead.

Arms were under her, snaking beneath her knees and shoulders, warm and soft and alive with rampant magic. Healing.

There was a whistle, sharp and insistent above her head and she felt the vibration of the action through Solas’ chest when he settled her in his arms and stood.

“We closed it.” She murmured, almost as if to remind herself.

Distantly, she heard Falon’s excited call.

“Yes, we did.”

“Not bad.” She tried.

Solas laughed a sharp bark that mixed oddly with the anxiety etched into his face. The worry was knotted there in his strong brow.

She reached up in his arms, fingers moving to his face when he turned to look at her.

Her thumb crossed his forehead, pressing down on the little mark there to smooth it gently away. His eyes softened.

And then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about anyone else, but usually when I come across rifts I always try and disrupt them while my party fights the demons. It weakens them and can make the fight go faster. 
> 
> Usually doesn't work when Terror demons or Despair demons are there to attack and interrupt me though.


	6. Bleeding I

The rest of the day was a haze.

He was cold, his absent vest tied up and bloodied around her broken bones and skin, holding it all together, but the wind only drove him faster.

They could reach Val Royeaux today, if he got them there quickly enough.

And he would.

Falon was strong and willing, abiding his urgency with stamping hooves and tearing calls from its great lungs. He no longer needed to snap his heels or the reins, the Hart pressed into their path with as much determination as he did.

Solas tried to smooth his anxieties with his focus, but the weight of her in his arms was frightening him.

Had she always been so small? So breakable?

He thought of how deceptive she could be with a curse, remembering her insistence and her confidence when she argued to close the damned Rift.

And he had believed her.

How could he not? He had seen her rip through holes in time and come out unscathed and seething. He had seen her face Corypheus alone and fall to depths of snow and darkness, making it back alive and hopeful, ready to lead without complaint.

She was waves of an ocean when she fought, pushing and pulling with magic, a current of aura that would overwhelm and crash. She was nature, her suddenness and power a steady beacon of her incredible spirit. She could carve mountains with her current.

But now, in his hands she was slipping rain, leaking through his fingers the more he tried to hold her.

 _Mortal._ His quiet mind reminded.

He had tried to tend the wound before racing off – but it was too much. He could only slather it in elfroot and tie it up. There were fragments of bone shards in her skin. He needed time, supplies, help. If it wasn’t fixed soon, it would get infected. Worse.

A yelp of pain startled him to a glance and he watched her bright eyes snap open, her hands yanking at his tunic.

Shock and exhaustion had worn off then.

And now the pain would start.

“AH—Solas!”

His fingers shifted to cradle her head as she turned into his shoulder. “It is going to hurt, Ellana, I can’t—“

She cried out, the whine of it trailing to the wind as they rode. He did his best to draw her legs steady, had even drawn her side saddle and tucked her into his lap, but there was little to do.

“I—it hurts—It’s!”

“I know—“ He tried, glancing down at her tightly closed eyes and cursing himself. He had been a fool. And now he was inadequate and unable. “I know, da’len, I know.”

“S-Solas please!”

Solas didn’t know what she asked for and he doubted she did either, but it was hard for him not to feel the tight coil of his chest and the heaviness in his throat when she begged him.

He had no magic for her. He had managed to stall her blood flow with runes and forced willpower, but numbing her to it now was dangerous. If she slipped into the Fade with pain hounding her subconscious… she could be taken. Her listless state would draw out the worst. She was much more vulnerable there, and he could not risk her spirit to ease her body.

Even if she could rest fine in the Fade, he feared her sleep after losing so much blood.

“Ellana, I can’t.” He whispered back, willing for her to understand but hearing only groans of pain and hushed whines of crying. “Ir abelas lethallan, I can’t.”

“Solas…”

He swallowed, kept his eyes ahead, their path framed by the antlers of the Hart. He ignored her prying fingers tugging at his collar and his sides. And he let her moans of agony become part of the ambiance, the sound entwining with the breathing of the beast beneath them.

She writhed against him as they rode, and they rode for hours.

And while each cry was a twang against his perseverance, he was so thankful for it. It would at least keep her awake.

Solas kept them tight to the edge of the waters. The forest was lush but wide, allowing them to storm through it with little trouble. And every so often when the leaves and foliage would break he could see the silhouettes of the Orlesian capital draw slowly nearer.

There was no stopping for rest, no break, no quiet conversation or acknowledgement of the sun resting brightly on the ground. It arched above them uncaringly, and Solas raced it.

And despite being plagued by anxiety and worry, he had them make good time.

Eventually though, Falon slowed, the beast huffing for breath and steadying their pace in a golden sunset. The animal was still just an animal, one that needed rest.

Ellana’s twists of agony had become only restless sounds of short pains and discomfort.

Solas let himself breathe too. He curled his arm around her, ignoring his own discomfort and ache from the ride to assess her.

Bright eyes flickered behind fluttering lids and his hands graced her cheek, unbidden. “No Ellana, no sleep.”

She looked up at him and his sympathy sang to the misery plain on her face.

“Stay with me, now.” He tried to press his palm into her back, to sit her straighter. “We are nearly there; don’t fall to it just yet.”

“I can’t—I’m… so tired—it hurts—“

“I know, I know.” He pulled her close; let her shove her forehead down on his shoulder with a dead weight her frail body could barely manage. It was the only time he would allow himself to curl his arms around her, to hold her preciously, and he wished he didn’t have to.

When he felt her begin to droop, his hands found purchase in her hair, playing with it and tickling her scalp to keep her awake. She shifted and twisted, pulling away from him. “Awake, stay awake. Please, Inquisitor.”

“Solas—“

“Ask me something.” He urged, desperate to keep her from losing this battle. “Whatever you like, please.”

But he could feel her slip; feel her weak body lax into sleep and her spirit begin to wander. “Please Ellana—“ he nearly begged, “Talk to me.”

Ellana murmured and suddenly he remembered Cole, sweet Cole and his insightfulness.

“Tell me about the knots lethallan, the Lover’s Knots.”

She shifted, hot skin on her forehead wrinkling in confusion as her eyes peeled up at him. “…knots?”

“Yes the knots, the halves you braided for others. How many have you made?”

Her eyes flickered, shades of trees darting across her face and the sun tracing glimmers of tears on her lashes. “…two.” She answered, her voice strained but curious.

“Three now… for Cole.”

“Who else da’len, tell me.”

“My… sisters.”

His brow pulled together, not expecting the answer. Shifting, he tried to keep her from the Fade, pushing his thumb roughly over her vallaslin. “You have sisters, lethallan?”

“Not anymore—I… I don’t remember them anymore…”

“Ellana, please.” He urged as her eyes closed completely. “Tell me of your sisters—“

But she was gone. Desperately Solas pulled her close to his chest, his mind already imagining how soft and unguarded her spirit must be in that other realm. His mind tormented him with memories of all the powerful demons he had seen, of the more malicious spirits that would flock to her weak state and body.

“Please, please—“ he tried still, and mana flooded to his fingertips, frost erupting in his palms. He pressed the cold ice into her back.

Her startled gasp and cry of pain was his sigh relief.

“No—Solas--- I can’t---“

“Just a little longer now, da’len, I promise.” He said, the sympathy no doubt apparent on his face as she watched him blearily. “Stay with me.”

His heels kicked at Falon and the Hart snuffed angrily, shaking it’s antlers in defiance.

“Let’s go!” He called, a hasty snap at the reins and the Hart took off once more, upset but obedient.

Solas pushed them hard into a sprint towards the main highway.

Ellana was in and out of consciousness with seemingly almost every breath, every jerk, as he tried to keep her talking. He was constantly looking for her eyes just as he was constantly driving them forward.

The sun crested beyond the trees, dying steadily on the horizon. The air grew colder with the grayer night and Ellana’s quiet mumbling was shaky with chill.

Solas could hear the rasped overworked breathing of the Hart, pushing its stamina with each round of thundering hooves.

And when night finally took the sky, he saw the tall walls of the Sun Gates. A towering sight that never looked so welcoming.

“Solas…”

“Just a little longer and then you can sleep.”

When they reached the stone work Falon took them across with ease, scattering the few other travelers venturing towards the Gates. People erupted in startled shouts, drawn horses neighing loudly as the Hart trumpeted past.

He needed to get her safe—inside—

“Stop! Stop please!”

A figure was rushing out towards them, hands rising and waving as they stepped into their path.

“Inquisition! Please I am here for—“

Falon reared harshly, jostling both him and Ellana as its front legs kicked to a halt.

The stranger before them cringed, holding defensive arms up as they rushed in explanation, voice heavy with an Orlesian accent. “Inquisition! Inquisition!—I am here for the Inquisition!”

“Who are you?” Solas called out, his wrist yanking back on the reins to steady their agitated Hart. With Ellana’s head rolling against his chest, murmuring incoherence, his patience was long gone.

“I am Lord Aradeau of Val Foret’s chauffer! I was told to retrieve the Herald of Andraste from the Gates! Please—“ The man straightened, his face covered in a simple black eye mask. “I have notice—you must come with me!”

Solas’s brows furrowed as he stared down at him. They had sent no news that they would be arriving. “How did you know to come for us?”

“I have notice, I have—“ The man struggled, his hands scrambling in his ornate jackets to retrieve an rolled parchment. He neared the Hart carefully and raised the letter.

Solas saw the Inquisition seal before he took it in his hands, recognizing the writings immediately at Cassandra’s. He could never underestimate the woman’s foresight.

“Your forces sent word about your arrival! I am supposed to take you immediately to the Chateau!”

Cassandra had in fact addressed a Grand Advisor of the name Aradeau in her letter, and he trusted in the letter’s validity—still—

“Solas…”

Ellana’s eyes blinked slowly at him, expression calm and distant. “I’m so tired…”

His mouth drew in a thin line, turning back down to the nervous looking chauffer. “Lead us swiftly please, we have no more time to spare.”

 

\---

 

Their path through the city was one made in haste. The night had draped over Val Royeaux with cold and silence, lanterns dim and gold in the dark.

Their chauffer did not hesitate to take their reins and lead them deep through the streets to his Lord’s home, and Solas spent his time speaking quietly to Ellana’s weak gaze.

They arrived to a large towering mansion in a street full of others, its windows darkened and seemingly abandoned.

Still, when they arrived the door opened for more people, many pouring out to aid them.

He took Ellana himself as they wrangled the Hart around to the stables, servants scrambling about him up the stairs.

“You are here!” A voice called, and Solas looked up to take in the grand interior of the building and a man walking down the stairs, his face masked fully in a gold sculpted visage. No doubt this Lord Aradeau. “So soon!”

The mansion was deceptively large, if dark, and Solas’ voice echoed when he spoke. “Please, she needs to be tended to immediately, I need a place to lie her out—“

“Of course, of course—“ The man’s tall form strode forward to them on the landing, looking over them both before snapping his fingers. “Quickly now, take the Herald to the East Quarters to see the Healer immediately.”

The crowd of servants funneled toward him and suddenly Ellana’s form was being lifted from him. “No I—“

“Come, let them take her, they need to see to it she doesn’t bleed anymore.”

“I have—“

“We need to see to you too.” Lord Aradeau insisted, his hand grasping Solas’ shoulder. Ellana was lifted from him completely, the servants arranging her gently. Her hands twitched, eyes blinking back at him in slight confusion. “My Healer is the best there is, he will make sure she is well looked after.”

“That is kind, but I am not hurt and would prefer to—“

“Let us see to you and then you can go with them.” The Lord countered.

“I—“

“Solas…”

He twisted, looking over to the Inquisitor’s haggard expression giving the weakest halfhearted smile he had ever seen her wear. Her voice was quiet but coherent when she spoke. “It’s alright.”

No it wasn’t. He was responsible at this point. She had snapped her leg to pieces because of his terrible judgment, his misplaced trust, and his over confidence.

“Come, rest a moment and then go to her.”

“Fine.” He breathed, and then she was being taken away, the servants hurrying down the hall. “Keep her awake! She must not sleep yet!” He called after them.

“Not to worry, not to worry, I have doctors here as well as a healer. They will know what to do.”

Solas watched them leave with her, the trepidation from his heart not yet gone.

“Come; let’s go to the parlor for a moment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breaking this chapter in two because it's so long. Get it? Breaking? Hahahaha.


	7. Bleeding II

  
Everything was so… cloudy.

It was like a mist had settled over the world, not matter where she was.  
Her eyes traced the spots of stars on the dark walls of the hallways, knowing them as lanterns but watching them bleed like light in a sky.

Her leg throbbed like a dull ache of misery in her chest, painful and present. But she was too tired and no longer able to fully appreciate the sensations it could cause.

The servants that were carrying her were whispering loudly, and for moments she thought them the same as the whispers she knew from the Fade, the ones that had been begging her for hours.

 _‘Sleep, sleep, let us take all the pain away._ ’ They had promised, and never had she thought herself so willing to temptation than now, when everything was covered in mist and the energy was sapped from her body.

But then she would see visions of Despair and Terror’s dead eyes and gaping mouth, jerking awake again with harsh and unstable clarity.

“Solas—“ The call for him was instinctual despite knowing he wasn’t there.

Light erupted around her and ceilings changed and suddenly she was falling, body hitting something solid.

Her head dropped on wood unkindly, the sharp pain of it snapping her eyes open to the sight of being set on a table in a room flooded with lamplight and crowded with people.

“How simple that was—The Herald of Andraste.”

The voice rang in her ears, the tone of it shaky and croaked.

Ellana’s eyes flickered lazily about the room, seeing nothing but manservants with black eye masks.

Another came forward, his clothing odd and sharp, and his face uncovered.

He bent low to the table, smiling at her in an odd fashion. “Not so glorious now, Herald?”

She shifted, brows drawing in confusion. “W-Who are yo—“

“Lord Edmond took the other one to the parlor in the center chambers.” A manservant spoke and the tone of everything being said was sending hot red uneasiness seeping into her skin.

“Good, we only need enough time to ready her for travel.”

“Are we not to mend the leg?”

“No--- we’ll need to stop the blood from draining enough to kill her. The Elder One wants her alive. But a broken leg makes it harder to run.”

Elder One.

What was happening? They had come for sleep—for rest… Solas was to fix her leg… Everything was mushing together with her weak memory and she felt herself distantly writhe on the table.

“What should we do with him? The one that came with her?”

“Does it matter? Kill him.”

No.

No, no, no, this was all wrong. All wrong – Solas had said they were going to the city for help. For healing! For sleep! They had finally made it—they were supposed to help!

“Solas!”

“Grab her arms please—bring the laudanum.”

The hands on her were forceful and now her mind was awake, eyes wide and trying desperately to see through the haziness of her pain. “St-stop! Wait! Who are—“

The unmasked man was handed a dagger, the metal of it glinting brightly in her vision as he stepped forward, slicing it on his open palm.

Blood magic.

Corypheus.

Venatori.

“Can’t we take the other one for ourselves?” The manservant insisted and the Venatori blood mage sneered at him angrily.

“You aren’t here to make a profit, Slaver—you are here to help with the job I give you.”

The manservant’s jaw snapped shut with a glare.

“Go kill him, then come back to help take her to the caravans.”

“Don’t! Solas!” She tried to scream and failed to her tired voice. Her hectic twisting was halted by hands holding her down. She tried to draw some sort of magic, anything, but a thick dampened cloth of repugnant odor was shoved forcefully into her mouth.

Her tongue hit the wet fabric instinctively and the bitter taste was repulsiveness enough to nearly make her vomit.

Her mind was screaming as she tried to fight the arms that held her, to create any magic, to run, to shout for Solas.

But she was so—so tired—her magic had been long gone since closing the Rift. She hadn’t had any rest, and the pain of her broken bone had taken anything left of her own physical strength.

And then everything in her vision split in two.

Her eyes jarred and everything went slow, as if drowned in water.

Someone pulled the cloth from her mouth, the taste of it still seeping into the crevices of her teeth, moist drool spilling from the corner of her numb lips.

Laudanum.

“Sss—oo…” She tried, hands scraping pathetically across the table. “So-lassss.”

She couldn’t feel anything, the thick weight of her skin dragging her to thud back onto the table.

“Unwrap her leg—I need to see the wound to apply this spell—“

 

\---

  
“Please, if it is the same to you, I would prefer to speak later.”

Solas kept his voice tightly calm, but made sure his eyes held his persistent authority.

“Believe me, I understand your worry for your Inquisitor, but I thought it imperative we talk first.” Aradeau motioned toward the entryway of the parlor and Solas proceeded inside despite his impatience.

“I only want to make sure you know of my hospitality…”

He said nothing, preoccupied with running his eyes over the room.

The mansion was ornate, as all Orlesian things were. But it was still so shockingly darkened. Perhaps due to the late hour.

It seemed old as well. Not old in its history, but actually old. With slight confusion he noticed the small parlor table littered with dust and a few pieces of furniture in the corner covered in sheets.

As if no one had been here in some time.

“I am glad to have been thought of in the Inquisition’s need. I want you to know that should you need anything, you may only ask it. My resources are plenty.”

“Kind of you.” He nodded and while the Lord sat in the center armchair, he simply clasped his hands behind his back.

Something was wrong.

None of this tasted right.

His hands were beginning to fist in their utter desperation to go back to Ellana. He imagined her beneath incompetent hands, writhing in pain or fading to quickly spilling blood.

“Please sit—“

He couldn’t, he couldn’t be polite anymore. And the itch to see to her was growing wild. “No. I must insist I—“

The door opened once more, and servants poured in.

Solas frowned, watching them filter through with their heads bowed, unassuming as they lined the walls. Three—four.

_Why so many?_

They were all dressed similar to the chauffer who had fetched them before—eyes in black masks and clothes rich. Males, all of them.

And none of them elves.

His eyes flickered, watching from his peripherals as a servant went for Lord Aradeau, speaking in hushed tones.

His fingers tensed lightly, the weight of his staff on his back apparent.

When the first attack came, he was ready for it.

It came from behind, a thrust of a dagger from someone who had lunged.

His barrier took the blow, a loud crack of sound as his mana repelled the pathetic attempt backward.

His staff was in his hands in seconds, its weight twisting with his pivot as he turned, magic ripping away from the air into him in a fell swoop.

The staff twisted, the heavy head of it coming forward to smash straight into the first attacker’s skull.

Blood spurted from their mouth as they hit the ground and the sight of it only fueled the fire fanning beneath his skin.

His aura pulsed, emotion unlocked and unchecked as a hand thrust forward to grasp the souls of the three other false servants by the walls.

His rage ripped open the pockets of the Fade, a swirling void of space that yanked their bodies upward to the ceiling. He collected them there, felt the traces of energy through their limbs, and cradled it in his fingers before smashing it with a flicker of movement.

He heard their screams die as he used his mana to smash them back to the ground.

When Solas turned, the Lord Aradeau was already yelling in horror, backing away from him as the last servant cowered, brandishing a sword with terror in his stance.

“Please! Stop! I can explain!” The Lord called, voice muffled behind the golden mask. “It isn’t me—I had nothing to do with this!”

Solas stalked forward towards the servant, the pulse of his mana something thudding at each crevice of the space around, in time with his heavy heartbeat.

“It’s the Venatori! The Venatori wanted the Inquisi—“

Just as the servant seemed to think twice, his sword lowering, Solas let his aura pinpoint and condense. Crackling ice erupted on the floor beneath the servant’s feet and raced upward. Branches of ice unfurled and coated him to be still, his screams ending as quickly as they began.

The frost breathed through the human, devoured his essence to nothing but more energy to fuel his own willpower. He sucked out anything he could take from him before walking deftly by and allowing the form to crumble, nothing but shards of snow on plush carpet.

The lanterns and pictures on the wall clinked and jumbled as the squealing Lord back into them, his hands trying to grip them in fear.

“Please—wait, wait! I can tell you where she is—“ He tried, a hand hurrying to remove his mask and show his upset red face, begging. “I know where they took her—I’ll show you—“

“I do not need you to find her.”

Solas let his magic sway to a calm halt as his hand lunged out, fingers grasping the pathetic shemlen’s mouth.

The man writhed immediately, hands grasping at the unyielding arm.

He wasted no magic, using only the faintest bit of it to keep the mortal body in place while his hand yanked the jaw sideways, dislocating it with a sick pop of flesh and tendon.

The yell of agony was satisfying to know he had suffered. And once that was assured, it was only another quick snap to the left to twist his head off his spine and kill him.

  
\---

 

Ellana could do nothing, her mind awake and alert in horror as her head lolled to the side, staring at her unmovable hands as something jerked at her leg harshly.

_Move, cast, scream, run—_

He mind was begging her body, but nothing stirred. She focused on her limp hands, catching the sight of the braid that rested there. Cole’s frayed Lover’s knot with bunching hairs and flyaway strands looked like a blurred mess in her drugged vision.

She tried to see past it, to focus on the anchor.

She tried to think of it opening, flaring, and ripping the sky apart to suck the slavers and the Venatori all away from her.

She could feel the dark energy of the blood magic stirring around her; see the flash of it on the shadows of the walls.

Her eyes squeezed shut and she focused on the buzzing of her body and the thick laudanum running through her throat and in her veins. She could feel none of her magic, but she could feel that.

If she just willed – tried—something—

A hot searing pain shot through her, erupting the room in bright white and blues.

Lighting.

Hers—her magic. It was an uncontrolled flare, a weak child’s attempt at a cast, fast and unfocused. But it worked, the bolts snapped about the room, stinging her numb skin and burning the Venatori mage away from her.

She used what little distraction that was to pull herself to the end of the table with all her might. Hands shaking, she begged her body for more.

Leaves erupted from the wood beneath her fingers. Keeper magic tickled from her fingers, shy and habitual, but then…

Fire.

It erupted in her pain, in her haze, and her absolute desire for protection and chaos.

Screams echoed in her head and she tried yelling too, but could hear nothing and see only blurred visions of people moving, trying to grasp her but being engulfed in the licking flames.

Something grabbed her leg and she knew she screamed. She knew tears poured from her eyes even if she couldn’t hear or feel anything.

_Oh Creator’s please—_

Her vision engulfed in white.

At first she imagined her fire too uncontrollable or the pain that unbearable, but the white void was cool and it seemed to encase the room with… power.

Power—magic, presence—it was palpable even through her addled mind and unfeeling nerves.

The grip on her leg was gone and while the screaming and ringing of sound did not stop her vision seemed to clear.

Solas.

He was there, shrouded in an obscure mist, but there, before her, coming for her.

She tried to call to him even as his pale eyes met hers and his hands grasped her. He pulled her to him and her arms tried to cling back with equal desperation. She felt him pull her close and push her head to his shoulder. Her eyes watched hot white magic sear through figures in the room as he held her.

Everything seemed slow and abstract as if she were in the Fade.

Time seemed as distorted as her vision. Her gaze was wide as she watched, felt Solas’ aura and magic light up the room in powerful sunlight. Tingling magic poured from unseen crevices of the Fade.

The slavers and the Venatori burned, their skin cracked and peeled like dried earth and dead leaves. Light poured out from the fissures in their bodies and crumbled them. It ate them away like ash.

It happened slowly, like a dream with no sound.

“I have you, it’s alright.”

His voice was the only thing clear as she felt his arms lift her from the table.

“Sssoo—“

He hushed her, a gentle pressure from his fingertips graced her face as the last of the bodies fell to the ground and the white lights of his magic faded.

“Venn—“

“No, it is alright—none of it matters now.”

What had he done?

He lifted her gently in his arms, his healing magic a distant caress on her own weakened spirit. She kept the blurry gaze of him in her sights and his pale eyes did not leave hers as they made their escape.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Solas keeps the extent of his magical abilities in check when others are around. Even then -- have you seen his Firestorm ability at tier three? Holy shit. 
> 
> Laudanum, for those of you who don't know, is a strong opium that was sometimes used as an anesthetic. Though mostly it was used to get really f**ked up.


	8. Relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, this story takes place before their kiss in the Fade, game-wise. Or some vague non-existent realm where that doesn't happen until much later anyway.

They found refuge with the Orlesian guard.

Alerted to the sounds of battle, the soldiers had come in a blaze of justice much too late for any help.

Still, Solas was thankful.

They were brought to the city barracks after questioning and their Commander was more than willing to help the Herald of Andraste rest and settle the confusion.

Ellana had taken on any eerie coherence of calm observance and Solas was quick to begin using the resources given to them and the small space in the soldier's quarters to tend to her leg.

They didn't talk, but she didn't fall asleep either.

His anger had spiked behind his quiet visage when he learned of her drugged skin, but he had to admit it made his job easier.

She felt nothing of his fingers in her torn flesh or the removal of the tiny dangerous shards of bone from her injury.

While a few soldiers hovered around them to bring bandages and poultice—Solas let no one else touch her. He himself eased magic through her skin and stitched her flesh. He alone drew together the splint for her calf and wrapped the bandages carefully.

It took an hour, maybe more, maybe less. His magic was still restless when he finished. He had been on alert since the first barrier cast in the Heartlands before the fight with demons and now he was boiling with it. He had taken so much of it from those in the Chateau, their deaths sparks of hot ready spells he had not fully absorbed yet.

He had just finished wrapping Ellana's leg when the Commander appeared once more.

As it happened, Cassandra's letter had been intercepted, as the body he had murdered back at the chateau was not Aradeau after all. Especially since Aradeau the Lord had been dead for years and Grand Advisor Aradeau was a widow living across the city.

The details mattered little to him now, but the Commander had already informed the real Aradeau, who was sending for them to offer proper hospitality.

He bent over her when the soldiers left, a hand brushing across her forehead to smooth the dampness there.

Her eyes blinked at him, awake and lips weakly twitching in a smile.

Her eyes were so tired. He had never seen them like this, with drawn circles set in a pallor face. Even her hair was mussed and knotted, everything covered in specks of blood and demon ichor. It was hard not to bring his fingers to her, to straighten everything back in its proper place, in the ways he had memorized her.

And yet in some strange light, she was exquisite like this. Scarred and beaten beyond belief, but that soft smile she always gave him still present.

And despite the slow wavering flicker that was her mana, her spirit was still strong.

Before they left, Solas insisted on sending a raven back to Cassandra at Fort Revasan to alert her of their arrival and estimate how long it would take to return. He added a few details on the Venatori ambush, but said nothing of the Rift they had closed on the way, knowing the Seeker would simply disapprove and fret.

The ride to the Chateau was thankfully short and the Grand Advisor thankfully kind.

The woman wore no mask when she accepted them into her home, a show of faith and assurance. She was an older widow, with full grey hair and a thin lipped smile. She explained her connections to Cassandra, and her Elvhen servants let them have a wide berth.

Solas was happy to see portraits and clean furniture everywhere, a well lived in home.

He sensed no trickery this time and while he was relieved his caution kept Ellana strictly in his own arms alone.

The trip seemed to have awakened Ellana a bit more from her lulled state as well, eyes flickering about the corners of the room and over the faces of the servants.

He didn't miss the soft paranoid squeezing of her fingers on his shoulders.

"I had a bath drawn and a room made for you Inquisitor, I'll lead you to them and then your companion to hi—"

"No." The word was sharp and reverberated, having been snapped by both Ellana and Solas.

The Inquisitor's face flushed, eyes avoiding his as she continued. "That's very kind… but we would prefer a room… together."

There was a strange pause between everyone through the room, the nature of the request a little scandalous. The quiet whispers from the elf maids behind them signaled as much.

Aradeau was courteous however, baring her hands and a small smile. "Of course. Please, follow me."

Solas said nothing, had she not insisted, he would have.

\---

"I'm sorry, I didn't even ask." She murmured to him later. The words were spoken to his chest as he set her carefully down to one foot on the cold floors of their private bathroom.

"It is alright—"

"With everything that's happened I only fig—"  
  
"Ellana." He smiled, stilling her worried expression with a look. "It's alright. I prefer it."

Her hands slid down his shoulders, steadying herself, the broken leg popped behind her. He ignored the sensation and helped her stand on her own, eventually releasing her.

"I do not think I saved face with the Orlesians though. Josephine will have to squash rumors."

"If they are not smart enough to understand our measures of safety then let them add it up to Elvhen oddity."

She chuckled, swaying with unbalanced hands at her laughter. Her shadows flickered on the painted wallpaper from the lanterns along the room. He was happy to see the laudanum gone from her countenance.

They had both seemed to reach a strange alertness despite having finally found refuge. Perhaps it was because they had been fighting exhaustion off for so long that now it was simply absent. Or perhaps it was the wait for something else to go wrong.

Solas absently rubbed at his chin, looking over the bathroom in thought. He paced towards the water in the ornate tub in the center of the room. He watched the steam rise before flickering his gaze over Ellana's body.

The lines of her muscles were hidden under ruined clothes. Her feet were dirty and her trousers torn loose, the pant about her broken leg nearly gone completely. Her armor and belts were coated in dirt and blood, keeping it compacted against her hidden skin. He could spot the remains of demons splashed on her hands and the ends of her hair.

She was an open book of their battles.

Not to mention that leg.

When his eyes found hers again, he discovered stained cheeks.

"I'll be alright on my own." She said.

He smiled wide at her, turning from her to collect the dry linens and washcloths from a nearby counter, thoughtfully left for them. "You honestly believe that one?" He asked over his shoulder, watching her face.

Her lips tried not to move, her face pressing into a forceful frown. A terrible liar, she always was. "I could at least try."

"No."

She sighed but didn't protest. Awake as she was now, she seemed too exhausted for arguing with him. Defeated perhaps, by her obvious inability and the day's mistakes.

He returned to her, dropping the fabrics by the porcelain and looking over her downward gaze.

"Would you mind it, da'len?" He made sure to call her da'len.

Solas didn't have to ask it exactly, he could tell she knew what he meant by the growing redness through the length of her ears. She made a breathy noise, a sound that mimicked the feel that spread through his spine as he watched the pink blush curl about her ear to her nape.

She didn't say anything, but she turned her bright eyes up to him and shook her head, giving him permission.

He held her gaze, a quiet understanding passing between them. They were battle companions before anything else and she trusted him as that.

And this needed to be done.

He forced his mind on other things when he stepped forward, hands rising to slide beneath the shoulders of her outer jacket. She bent with him, shoulders twisted and fingers clutching his arms for balance. He helped her shrug off the material, dropping it to the floor with a quiet rustle.

His hands were on her again dipping through the strands of her hair to find the shoulder strappings of her pauldrons.

Solas forbid himself from looking at the soft concave curves of her cheeks, or the embarrassed and infectious smile peeking at the corner of her lips. She needed tending to and she had turned away the servants in favor of him.

He owed her his fortitude, not his distraction.

The pauldrons hit the floor, and he slipped slightly when his fingers began unbuttoning the clasps of her collar.

"Oh-" She swallowed, he felt it on his knuckles. "I can do this if you'll do my legs?"

"Ah. Yes." He nodded, letting her go and chiding himself. He went to his knees, hands reaching for her leg.

She yelped loudly when his fingers wrapped about her calf, going unsteady and falling onto him.

He hands found his shoulder and he steadied her quickly, listening to her laugh echo off the walls and unable to resist looking up to share her smile.

"Sorry! I just—I'm not used to—"

His fingers clenched her calf.

"HAH! Solas!" She jerked, head throwing back and hands trying desperately to keep herself balanced. "Please—no—"

He chuckled loudly. "You cannot give that reaction and not expect me to indulge!"

"Don't!" She demanded, but her eyes were gleaming, body tense with excitement. "That's the only leg left now."

"So it is. I suppose it would be foolish to render you completely useless." He nodded, her fingers easing from him. It was ridiculous for him to have done it, but he delighted in her mirth, unexpected as it was after the trying day.

He was careful to avoid startling her again as he began un-wrapping the ties to her leg bindings. The Elvhen weave was familiar to him, and he tried to refocus himself with the motion.

It was hard when he heard the clinking latches of her tunic giving away above him.

When he finished, her light gloves hit the ground and her tunic slithered to her hips.

He kept his eyes on the discarded clothes as he stood once more, listening rather than watching her unclasp her belt and letting it clatter to the floor.

"My leg is getting a bit tired…" She said, the words distanced by her down-turned head, watching her own hands as she unlaced the top of her trousers.

He went to her, hands coaxing her to rest her forehead on his chest as she worked. The simple gesture relaxed her unstable feet and gave him the chance to look her over without her knowing.

Her skin was chilled beneath his hands, shoulders a little shaky and goosebumps scattered across her flesh.

Solas let himself exhale softly; watching in fascination as her tunic slowly reached the floor, loosened and exposing her back. It curved softly, a sheet of satin over marble. Her muscles appeared only when she moved, waves of strength breaking the even surface of skin. Elvhen weave encircled her from breast to waist, a simple tight garment to keep her bound, and thankfully decent.

He loved the sight of her immediately.

But he tightened his lips, keeping his eyes on only her face when she straightened away from him to tug her pants off her hips. She must have been terribly embarrassed with the way her red blush spread down her shoulders like paint in water.

She struggled, eyes glancing at him before looking away. Her hair dusted messily along her forehead and her lips tugged in a desperately awkward smile.

And suddenly this was very, very hard to resist.

It all looked too real. Too raw.

A timid woman trying to hide her smile and blush as she undressed before him. She was right there, just shy of his height. Just shy of a kiss. Pants caught on her thighs, clad only in her wrapped undergarments; she was the picture of a first experience.

This is what she would like before a lover, excited and nervous, curious but restraining herself.

Something intimate and warm swelled in him. It rose like the steam of the tub to his face.

"Solas… could you help? My leg—"

Her leg. Her broken, shattered leg.

His fingers fisted and un-fisted, eyes narrowing. "Of course, I apologize."

Remembering that her worsened state was his fault made it easier to ignore the plush give of her thighs beneath his fingers as he pulled her pants down to her knees. He reminded himself of her ragged and crying face beneath the Venatori when he pulled one leg out and then the other. He thought of the hard recovery she would have in the morning when her hands accidentally brushed his ear as she balanced.

He was a fool, he reminded. An old ha'hren to her, a mentor, a guide. This was survival now, not seduction.

Left only in her small clothes, Solas tried to stare at her wrapped up and stilted leg instead of her exposed skin.

But then she spoke and he was distracted by the dimple on her hips when she breathed and the fluttering appearance of her ribs. "Ah... I think—this should be fine."

He caught her eyes, nervous and avoiding as her arms crossed to cover her stomach.  _Yes, yes it should be._

"Come, then."  _Da'len_ , he reminded himself. _Inquisitor. Herald._

He took her arms in his, aiding her awkward movements toward the tub.

When he lifted her, his eyes caught a raised scar along her back, above the dip of her hips. It was odd; wide and long with broken streaks. As if someone had taken one of his larger paintbrushes, dipped in lighter shades of her skin, and dragged the broken bristles upward.

It sank away to the water when she lowered herself.

She let out a bit of a gasp.

"Too hot?"

"No—just—not quite ready!" She laughed.

The water took away the sight of her and he nearly sighed in relief. He took his time gathering washing items for her, towels and bottles, lining them along a stool by the side of the tub. When he had his bearings back, he returned to kneel near the end of the bathtub, by her legs.

"You don't have to stay Solas."

"I'm afraid I do." His hands reached into the warm waters, sleeves growing heavy as he sought her broken leg and raised it to the surface.

Her hands gripped the side as she moved; watching him curiously as he tested the now wet bandages and wiggled the stilt.

"It doesn't hurt."

Of course it didn't. His heavy spells had made sure it wouldn't. It needed healing, but that could come tomorrow after she was given some relief. Still, it would need to be dressed yet again after her bath and the water would be good for the wound. He began unwrapping, glancing up to find her watching.

"It won't be pleasant to see."

She laughed. "Have you seen the rest of me today?"

His eyes softened a smirk appearing. "I have lethallan, which is why I warn you."

Her smile filtered down to a soft parting of lips, her face moist and red. She hummed pleasantly at his comment, dipping her chin to the water.

He tried to lecture himself for the slip, but could do nothing but smile, her reaction having loosened him. A heat of pride laced through his mind despite his better judgment.

She washed her body and hair as he freed her leg; both of them quiet save for the shifting sounds of the water. It gave him time to analyze the swelling of her calf. And himself.

This… _infatuation_  was becoming a hindrance. At first it had been lingering thoughts, ones easily excused, for who would not have such thoughts cross their minds at the sight of such attraction?

She was a beautiful woman, which was not something hard to admit.

He had no shame in knowing that, no man should.

But, now his cares had grown… attached. A fickle weakness. He was dallying with her because she was kind, because she was curious.

And, _oh_ \- the curiosity. That quiet patience and persistent questioning nature was undoing him. She was picking at his defenses with the gentleness of a breeze, drawing him in only to lock him tightly in place with the strength of her spirit.

She was new. A surprising puzzle he had not expected from the tired misplaced teachings of the Dalish. That was all. Surely he had similar excitement when crossing a glaring new memory of the Fade, or a new spirit with engaging stories to show him.

But…

He glanced at her, hands pressing on her warm skin in the water. He watched her neck lean backward to dip her hair, the muscles of her throat casting shadows as it moved with her easy breathing. Pearls of water slid along secret pathways of her neck to the shallow of her breast.

He felt her body tighten at the movement, even her broken leg contracted, toes pointing instinctively.

It was a carnal thing then. Something primitive and expected. He had been alone, asleep for so long—and he was still a man, not above recklessness and mistakes as he should be.

No.

It was a disservice to her to call his longing for her lust. It was not just the glimmer of her eyes or the swell of her flesh.

It was all of it.

It was the lilt of her voice when she teased him or the hard edge of it when she demanded something of her enemies. It was that her spirit outshone the pulsating mark of the anchor, bent it and used it.  _Used him_. The questions, the challenges, even her cold shoulder when she disagreed with him. And then demure avoidance of his gaze when she apologized—that she even apologized.

But he couldn't.

He could not admit it. Not to himself, not even in his head. He knew he was already ruined, but to admit to himself was unnecessary.

All of this was unnecessary.

He had to swallow it. Hide it. Bury it with the rest of his quiet regrets. He could carry the weight of this along with the weight of everything else. Longing was not quite so different than loneliness.

Blood flaked from her skin, and the glow of his willpower erupted from his hands. It was distorted underwater. The flecks of light drifted through the tub, spirit magic whisking around the expanse of her legs. His magic wrapped about her like a thick blanket, healing cuts and grazes.

"Hmmm." She cooed, slipping in lower, her knee bending into his hands.

Her own aura met his, exhausted magic stretching out through the natural current of the water. Her mana was tired but overwhelming to him, entangling through his with the same sensation that her fingers had when they had held hands days ago.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Solas."

She was staring at him fondly with her head rested against the side of the porcelain.

He audibly huffed. Damn her.

"You would surely be traveling with Cassandra instead, who would be much harder to persuade into bad ideas. Like closing rifts."

Ellana's smile widened. "I won't live this one down, will I?"

"Absolutely not."

Neither would he, apparently. Standing, he let her leg dip back into the water.

"Finished?" He asked, leaning over and ignoring the foggy vision of her willowy figure. His eyes held hers resolutely, hands reaching as if to pull her out.

"Wait—what about you?"

Caught in her adamant gaze, the surprise of the question burned his ears. His mind begged him to be reasonable and he forced a casual laugh to replace his most likely stunned expression.

"I can go without."

She smiled with raised brows. "Have you seen yourself?"

A wet hand rose from the water, droplets cascading back to the surface. His hand gripped the other side of the tub, practically sitting on the edge of it as he froze in his loom over her.

Her hand was warm and moist when it hit his cheek, thumb pressing pointedly across his skin.  _Cleaning, not caressing,_  he reasoned.

"You're a mess."

_Oh, if you had any idea…_

Solas turned toward her wrist, the tip of his nose kissed wet by her skin. When her hand dropped the cool air sent shivers down his spine.

He hummed, the sound caught in his throat.

Her fingers pulled at his tunic. "You have blood all over you, Solas."

She had no idea what she was insinuating, he knew that. But curse her; her words were begging to be responded to. He wanted to tease, wanted to drop into the warm of the water with her, clothes and all.

He would happily drown.

She made nothing easy.

He cornered her with his eyes, willing his voice to sound scrutinizing. "There's hardly room for me in there,  _da'len_." He bit out the endearment, a harsh sound to remind himself.

Ellana flushed bright, smile immediately disappearing. Her hand dropped back to the safety of the water and her knees drew up to her chest.

Embarrassed. Good.

"I-I wasn't implying—"

He ignored the sunken feeling in his stomach. "Come."

His hand found her shoulders and she didn't protest. Her eyes looked everywhere but his as he helped her stand.

She gave soft apologies for getting his clothes wet.

He barely heard them over his memorization of the way her hair curled on her neck, the way the water collected like dew at the tips of her ears.

Ellana didn't shiver long; Solas could not cover her quickly enough.

\---

Her eyes trailed him as he moved about the room, his hands twisting the oil in the lamps down until the flames died.

The tunic sleeves fluttered as he moved, making his arms look even more long and willowy.

He looked rich in them, his ever straight back more pronounced in the crisp but soft fabric. It was fitted unlike his other clothes, but she supposed one would expect such quality from Orlesians.

Clean clothes had been left for them, which Ellana was thankful for.

After her bath Solas had let her dry with towels and magic while he re-wrapped her leg for what seemed like the hundredth time. Afterward he had left her to the bedroom to change, taking the bathroom for himself to do the same.

When he emerged they had both chuckled at each other, dressed in human sleeping clothes.

She suspected he had washed a bit as well, his fingers and face once more the pristine marble she was used to.

"Did you lock the doors?" She asked timidly, glancing at them as if more Venatori would burst through.

"More than once." He answered, the tone in his voice seemingly agreeing with her caution. "I even placed a few wards."

"Truly?"

He turned back to her with a smile, the last lamp dimming in his fingers but not dying. "Truly."

The clothing suited him somehow. He looked comfortable, where she felt a bit odd in the loose robe. The sleeves seemed too wide yet too short, and much too flimsy. She liked the thicker fabrics of wool and furs.

But Solas seemed more pronounced in them. His torso seemed longer, his shoulders broad, spine sharp, and his silhouette seemed to cut the room in half.

Ellana shifted as she considered him, sitting in the sheets of the bed and trying not to close her eyes to the softness of it all. It was not what she preferred and yet, the silken nest seemed to agree with the exhaustion of her muscles.

The heat of the bath had lulled her, reminded her body of its weakness, and pulled the last of her adrenaline away.

Solas neared her, his expression soft with concern.

"You should sleep da'len, you are more than welcome to now."

She tried to nod, somehow turning the motion into lying back into the bed instead. Still, she forced her eyes open for him. "And you?"

She watched his eyes trace the emptiness beside her and Ellana knew his answer from the expression his face.

"I will be quite al—"

"Solas, honestly." She tried, letting her head drop to the pillows a little dramatically. Her arm stretched out far. "Look how massive this _shem_ thing is."

" _Shem_!"

She ignored his laugh to make her point. "I could fit my whole clan in it, or the entire Inquisition!"

It was actually true, the ornate headboard itself was almost twice her height. Solas had spent some time turning down the sheet let alone dashing the décor cushions off of it for her.

She glanced back at him, finding raised brows and a smirk. "You exaggerate greatly."

"Maybe. But at least two halla, or all my advisors."

He truly laughed then. She allowed her sleepy mind to watch him cross his arms and chuckle into his fist with satisfaction. The sight of his eyes closed in joy heated her stomach and cheeks.

She went in for the kill. "If you're loathe to share a bed with me, this is at least the one to do it in."

He sobered slightly and she felt her toes tingle when his eyes darkened. "I am not."

She hummed, twisting in the sheets to curl at her side and pat the spot across from her. It was all she could muster after a response like that one.

Her brows furrowed as she listened to him circle the bed to join her, wondering—always wondering at his words.

She recalled the forward comments he had given her in the bath and ones she had heard many times before this day. There was never any mistaking his intention to compliment, to tease, to… play.

And yet…

She could remember an equal amount of instances where his face turned distant, where her own teases were reflected in chiding. There were times he made her feel like a woman, heated and admired, and others a child, foolish and embarrassed.

When he slid in, Ellana was disappointed to find her argument held true – he was almost a whole body away from her.

His posture seemed refined even on his back, an observation that made her smile.

Solas caught her expression, eyes connecting with hers.

She didn't look away, happy to find herself too tired for the insecurity beneath his intensity.

He said nothing. The silence of the room was interrupted only by the hitch of her breath and the steady thud of her heartbeat echoing through her.

He was handsome. Though Ellana wondered what she actually meant with that word. He was not a traditional handsome man, not one she had ever seen… But something about Solas demanded to be looked at. His features were strong, eyes full of something untold.

Something important.

Her lips parted, millions of questions on her tongue.

Funny that she had found the man with millions of answers.

Still, nothing came out.

He turned after some time, twisting to his side to match her. Both seemingly unraveling their thoughts in the gazes of the other. She tried to read his expression, but only saw calmness. Content.

Her body shifted again, satin sliding across her skin, reminding her of her bath.

And his fingers on her body.

She recalled the smooth grace of his palm along her thighs and the careful focus in his expression when he had sought to unbutton her tunic.

Thinking of it while looking straight into his gaze had a heat curling through her muscles as if she had not escaped the steam of the hot water.

A breathy laugh escaped her, unable to hide the effect of her thoughts. She looked away to her hands, but when she glanced up again his eyes were piercing. They flickered about her face and figure as if trying to find something. It nearly took the breath from her.

Sleep tugged at her mind and she fought it, desperate to hold his attention. After all, he had given her nothing but his utmost vigilance for hours.

He had been…  _oh._

And it had been her folly, all of it. Recklessness, fool hardy, ill consideration… she could hear the words scolded to her from her Keeper in her mind's eye.

Guilt weighed her gaze down to her hands.

She spotted his across from her, his fingers moving slowly against the bed, tracing something unseen into it. He always seemed to unknowingly stir in his idleness.

Her hands reached out unbidden, fingers touching his to stop the movement and entangle him.

His eyes snapped to her and his lips parted.

"Ir abelas ha'hren." She said instead.

His brows furrowed slightly and then he was moving.

Solas shifted to come close to her. Their hands clasped as he lifted himself, body leaning over hers as he abandoned the gap between them. "No, da'len, there's nothing to apologize for." He assured, leaning closer to her. He seemed to guess at her upset expression. "Neither of us could have known that they were Venatori."

"And—"

His smile broke her insistence.

"Ah, well if you are apologizing for the Rift then yes, that is your fault."

She laughed beneath his teasing smile, her chuckling heating her with warm sensations. Her closed eyes begged to stay closed and when she finally got them open again, it was only half way.

He did not move from his proximity, his warm body curling through the sheets. She could smell him, though it was different now. Wax, cloves, and something heavy—the telltale weight of magic. She could smell his spells on him, the swirling musk of the Veil he manipulated.

Her lids flickered low.

They were quiet for a while, faces into breaking smiles when they happened to cross glances that didn't quite leave when they looked away once more.

"I like your hands."

Her voice sounded weak to her ears as she said it.

The pads of her fingertips brushed along his accused ones, admiring their smoothness. Peeking from her lashes she found his smile gone, his face indifferent as he watched her.

She returned to his hands, dragging her knuckles on his nails.

"Your fingers are so long…!"

Her quiet exclamation was hazy, but Solas laughed. The familiar chuckle curled into a snort. The sound made her whip her gaze at him, finding him pressing his face into the pillow. His eyes avoided her, an expression so close to embarrassment she wanted to memorize it. 

She watched him try to still his smile, lips twitching towards a frown.

Her fingers tickled the center of his palm and he chuckled breathlessly again, eyes finding her.

Better.

" _Ellana_."

Her face faded into wonder.

He said her name… so differently than he had before. _El-lah-nah._ The syllables had rolled off his tongue like a sentence, like separate words carefully picked to speak together.

Closing her eyes, her mind repeated it back to her, again and again.

 _Ellana, Ellana, Ellana_.

Her body sank in the water of the bath in her memory. The heady smell of the Veil from his body wrapped about hers.

" _Emma Ellana'as_ …" She heard him whisper, something dusted across the skin of her cheek.

"Hmmm?"

Another breath… his laugh.

She smiled, his adored expression conjured behind her closed lids.

There was a weighted warmth along her arm and when he spoke he sounded close.

The hot air of his words pressed on her lips, pushing her deep into the welcoming embrace of the Fade.

" _Son era, 'ma Ellana_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed the very long, romance induced chapter. Much needed I think. I feel like Solas is one who constantly blows hot, blows cold-- the man is a mystery. 
> 
> _"Ir abelas"_ \- I'm sorry  
>  _"Son era, 'ma Ellana"_ \- Sleep/Dream well, my Ellana 
> 
> Most of my Elvhen is courtesy of the amazing fenxshiral on tumblr!


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